Chapter XXIX.

Chapter XXIX.When I began to reflect on the coming day, I remembered that it would be necessary for me to congratulate my uncle on his birthday; and I felt it would require a stretch of the forms of politeness to do this in a becoming manner. It occurred to me now that if Francis could only see through that little glass window in my breast, she would have the best of the argument in future on the subject of the conventionalities of society; for I confess to you, dear William, I had become a convert to Aunt Sophia’s opinions with regard to this same General von Zwenken, and now I admired her prudence in preventing her fortune from falling into such hands.As the birthday fell on a Sunday we all went to the village church, a duty which the General considered his position as lord of the manor imposed uponhim; and one which he performed as he would have done any other duty laid down by the military code. The clergyman was old, monotonous, and wearisome. The greater part of the congregation went to sleep under the effects of his sermon. Francis took up a Bible and pretended to read, whilst it seemed to me the wakeful part of the congregation paid more attention to us than to their minister; and the remarks they whispered about one to another struck me as not being very favourable to us. The General alone kept his eyes fixed on the preacher throughout the sermon; but whether his mind was so intently occupied with the subject matter, I will not take upon myself to say.On our return the fête commenced. The village schoolmaster brought up his scholars, who recited a string of verses glorifying the Baron as patron of the school, though I doubt whether he had ever entered it. And I believe the same verses had done duty for several generations on similar occasions, when the owners of the Werve admitted the master and his scholars to an audience.Then came the Pauwelsens from the farm, who still address the General as their landlord; afterthem some of the villagers. All these people were regaled with cake and chocolate. The burgomaster1called in his turn; he was a regular rustic, and paid a good deal more attention to me than to the General. He evidently saw in me a mystery which excited his curiosity.Captain Willibald also put in an appearance, and after congratulating my uncle, handed him a box of cigars, saying—“They are the old sort; I know your taste exactly.”“Certainly you do, my good fellow; it is an agreeable present. Here in the country one must lay in a stock. What say you, Leo?”“To my shame, I must own I did not know what to buy you on such an occasion; but I will take care to make up for this omission of mine very soon.”Uncle rejoined in a whisper—“The one thing I should like you to do is to reconcile yourself with your uncle, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.”Happily it was not necessary for me to reply to this remark. Francis entered the room, and quitecharmed me by her manner. She was cordial to all the visitors—I thought I had never seen a better hostess. I saw how amiable she could be when quite at her ease, and not beset by fears of what envious tongues might say as soon as her back was turned.The dinner was beautifully arranged. The Captain had put on his full-dress uniform, the General his also, and I had given some extra attention to my toilette. Francis was dressed plainly as usual, without much regard for the day or the visitors; and yet there was something original in her style of dress, an elegance which seemed to heighten her beauty considerably. I was struck by the richness and weight of the silver, all engraved with the family coat-of-arms. I felt sure that the Captain and Francis had put their money together to get it from the pawnbrokers for the occasion. At table she took her place between the clergyman and myself. The village lawyer, the postmaster, and some rough-looking country farmers, together with the churchwardens and several members of the local board, had been invited to the dinner. Rolf took his place in the midst of them, and soon loosened their tongues bypointing out the various sorts of wine, and filling up their glasses with no sparing hand. Even the clergyman I found to be much more entertaining at table than in the pulpit, and the conversation never flagged. Fritz, assisted for the nonce by one of the sons of farmer Pauwelsen, had donned a livery which I felt pretty certain was the uniform of an officer metamorphosed. He was more attentive, and more particular than ever in his manner of serving every one; it seemed to me as if he had something on his mind, he was so solemn and serious. In spite of myself I could not help thinking of the utter ruin this once opulent house had fallen into, and of the unhappy son banished from his father’s table. As for the General, I had never yet seen him in such good spirits. The table so well served, the appetizing dishes, and the wines which he had such a delicate manner of tasting—all this just suited his epicurean habits. Afterwards we drank coffee in the garden, and Rolf insisted upon our drinking a bowl of May wine; for he was most anxious to display his skill in the composition of this very famous German beverage.This completed the entertainment, for the countrypeople are accustomed to retire early; and the evening was still young when a great lumbering coach drew up before the hall door, to convey the visitors back to the village.I had hoped to meet Francis and propose a walk round the garden, but she was nowhere to be found. It appeared she had run over to the Pauwelsens with some of the dainties for the old bed-ridden grandmother. And her first care on her return was to inquire the whereabouts of her grandfather.“He must not be left alone for a moment to-day,” she said to me; “I have not been at my ease all this day.”“Because of Rudolf?” I inquired.“I can never be sure what whim he will take into his head next. But you are sure that he is gone?”“Certainly, before I was awake; but he left his pocket-book on the table. I will take it to him to-morrow.”“Don’t do anything of the sort, I am sure he will come back; this thought has pursued me like my shadow all this day. But tell me what you thought of my dinner.”“You were a charming hostess, Francis. How I should like to see you mistress of a well-furnished house of your own!”“And one in which it would not be necessary to take the silver out of pawn when I expected visitors,” she replied bitterly.“My dear cousin, I know this must have been a bitter trouble to you,” I answered compassionately.“This I feel the most humiliating of all; but I did it to please my old grandfather, upon whom I can be severe enough at times about his weaknesses. Rolf, who in spite of his faults is the best-natured fellow in the world, went to the town of——, and we polished it up ourselves. We would not let Fritz into the secret.”“And to me, Francis, to whom you owe nothing, you have given much pleasure, by surprising me with this little Russian leather case——”“Don’t mention such a trifle. I only wished to mark the day on which you became my friend.”“Yes, indeed, your friend for life,” I answered, gently drawing her arm within mine. This word had given me courage, it rendered me bold. “I thank you for that word, Francis; but it is not yetenough. Let me be to you more than a friend; permit me——”“More than a friend?” she cried, visibly agitated. “I beseech you, Leopold, let us not aim at what cannot be realized, nor destroy this relationship which is dear to me, by striving after the impossible. Promise me seriously, Leopold, you will not mention this subject to me again, or use any such language to me.”This answer seemed very like a formal refusal, and yet I remarked an emotion in her voice which to a certain extent reassured me.“And why should it be impossible, Francis?” I resumed, mustering up all my courage.This time I got no answer; she uttered a shriek and rushed off to the summer-house, I following her. There a frightful spectacle awaited us.Rudolf, the miserable Rudolf, was on his knees before his father, kissing his hand. The latter was seated on the bench, to all appearance motionless. Suddenly Rudolf uttered a cry of terror and despair.“I warned you,” said Francis; “you have been the death of your father.”“No, Francis, no, he has fainted. But I foundhim in this condition; I swear to you by all that’s dear to me that I found him thus.”The fact was that the General had become stiff and motionless as a corpse. The trellis work alone had prevented his falling to the ground. His face had turned a little blue, his eyes were fixed and wide open, and his features distorted. Francis rubbed his temples with the contents of her scent-bottle. This friction revived him a little; but prompt medical aid was necessary.“Tell me where the village doctor lives,” cried Rudolf, beside himself in his agitation, “that I may fly to him.”“It will be better to send Fritz,” replied Francis, in a cold, decided tone.I ran off in search of the old and faithful servant, to whom I explained the state of affairs.“The General has had an attack!” he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, “and it is my fault!”“How so?”“I ought not to have allowed it—but I—I could not drive away the only son of the house.”“Of course not, but keep your own counsel and make haste.”And the old soldier started off at a speed I had thought him little capable of.When I returned the General was in the same condition; Rudolf, leaning against a tree, was wringing his hands.“That will do no good,” Francis said to him; “help me to carry him to his room; Leopold will give us a hand.”“That’s not necessary—he is my father, and it is my place to carry him.”In an instant he took up the old man with so much gentleness, and yet with such firmness of muscle, that you would have thought he carried a babe. He refused my assistance even up the staircase. He laid the old Baron on his bed, with his eyes still fixed, and quite unconscious.“Thank God! there he is safe,” said Rudolf, falling into a chair. “I have had many a hard piece of work in my life, but never one in which my heart was so deeply concerned. May I stay here until he regains consciousness?” he asked of Francis like a supplicant.“I feel that it is impossible for you to leave at such a moment,” she answered; “but we must call in Rolf, and if he sees you here——”“Oh, if he makes the slightest to do I’ll twist his neck about like a chicken’s.”It occurred to me that the more simple and prudent plan would be for me to go and make the Captain acquainted with what had happened, and obtain his promise to keep silent and to pretend not to know anything about Rudolf’s presence. He was enjoying his after-dinner nap when I found him, and I was afraid he would have an attack of apoplexy when I told him about the coming of Rudolf. His anger seemed to make him forget the gravity of the General’s position. I endeavoured to make him understand that the accident might possibly be attributed to a fit of cold, caused by drinking May wine in the cool of the evening so shortly after the copious dinner of which the General had partaken; but he had made up his mind that Rudolf was the cause of the misfortune, and he asserted that his duty as a soldier and an officer was to have him forthwith arrested as a deserter.It was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get this fixed idea out of his head. I succeeded, however, at length in proving to him that the duty which he owed to humanity far surpassed all othersat present; that it would be an unheard-of cruelty to arrest the son now at the bedside of a father, dying, for all we knew; that even Francis herself had consented to his staying, and that we were in duty bound to cast a veil over the family secrets. Finally the inborn good-nature of Rolf triumphed, and we went together to the General’s room.The doctor had just arrived. He considered the case serious, and said it would be necessary to bleed the patient. Fritz and Rolf were left to aid the doctor and undress the invalid. Meantime I led Francis into a cabinet where Rudolf had taken refuge and was breathlessly awaiting the doctor’s verdict.As we had left the door ajar we heard the patient recover consciousness, and call for Francis in a strangely altered voice, and address questions to her in a frightened tone; which questions the doctor, not understanding, put down to delirium, though they made it clear enough to us that he had seen and recognized Rudolf, although he mentioned no names.“If the patient is not kept strictly quiet, I fear it will turn to brain fever,” said the doctor on leaving.“Would you like to see the person you referred tojust now?” I asked the General in a whisper, as soon as we were alone.“No, indeed! I know he is here; he must leave in peace, and at once, never more to appear before my eyes, or—I will curse him.”We could hear a suppressed sigh in the neighbouring cabinet. Rudolf had understood.Rolf and Francis undertook the duty of watching at the bedside of the patient during the night; and I led Rudolf to my room—I may say supported him, for the strong man reeled. He threw himself on the sofa and wept like a child.“It is finished,” he said. “I could not, after all, have expected anything else, and I have my deserts.”“Francis was in the right, you see; you ought not to have broken your promise.”“It is not my fault I broke it. Fritz caught me this morning just as I was scaling the garden wall, and I was obliged to make myself known to him, otherwise he would have given me in charge as a housebreaker. He then offered to hide me in an unoccupied room on the ground floor until to-night. Thence, unseen, I could watch the movements of my father; and when his guests were gone, I saw himwalking alone towards the summer-house, where he sat down, and, as I thought, he had fallen asleep. Then it was I ventured out of my hiding-place and approached him. It appears, however, he must both have seen me and recognized me. But now I have said enough, and this time I will go away for good. God bless him! May the Almighty strengthen dear Francis.”I persuaded him to spend this night with me, and try to get a little rest. From time to time I went to make inquiries about the General, and towards morning I was able to inform Rudolf that his father had passed a fair night and was now sleeping calmly; he could therefore leave with his mind more at ease. I accompanied him a part of the way outside the grounds, and promised to keep him informed of the state of his father’s health. He gave me his address, as I was to write to him under the name of Richard Smithson, and he then parted from me with the most passionate expressions of gratitude for the little kindnesses I had been able to show him.1In Holland every village has its burgomaster, who acts as chairman of the local board.Chapter XXX.The General escaped for this time, but his recovery was slow. He was weak, and both his arms and legs seemed as if they were paralyzed. I allowed myself to be easily persuaded to prolong my stay at the Werve, and I was able to render Francis many little services. One of us two had to be constantly at the side of the convalescent, for Rolf had better intentions than judgment. He let the General have just what he asked for, and would soon have brought on a relapse if we had not watched them both. Francis was very thankful to have me with her; and yet she could not be satisfied that it was possible for me to spare so much time from all my business. She little suspected that my most pressing and agreeable occupation was to remain at her side and win her affections. Her devotion to her grandfather wassublime; she forgot all the wrongs he had done her, and only reproached herself for having caused him pain by her plain speaking. Notwithstanding, as the old man gradually grew better, she was soon again convinced that a certain amount of firmness was absolutely necessary to manage him. During his illness he had requested me, in his first lucid moments, to receive and open all his letters. And in this way I became aware that he was engaged in “risky” speculations, and that he was making debts unknown to Francis. When he was well enough to talk on such a subject, I ventured to remonstrate with him, and to point out the consequences of persisting in such a course, both for himself and for Francis. He promised me he would give up all such speculations, and excused the past on the grounds that he wished to leave Francis something when he died. I was to make the best conditions I could for him in the sale of the Werve. It was time. Overberg consented to wait; but Van Beek, the executor of the will, a man as inflexible as the law itself, had lost all patience. And I was not yet sure of Francis. Weakness on my part, you will say; but no, it was delicacy—it was the fear of having to cut short mystay. I was afraid of the obstinacy of Francis—that she would not consent to a marriage even though I might have won her heart. I was constantly calling to mind that terrible sentence she had uttered in the garden: “You will not use such language to me again.” I shuddered at the very idea that a new attempt on my part might draw from her lips a definite and decidedNo.The old General had discovered my intentions—of that I was convinced. He was continually insisting upon a reconciliation with my uncle the minister, and that I should prepare Francis for the sale of the Werve. On this latter point, I assured him Francis would listen to reason, and, armed with his power of attorney, I went over to Zutphen to arrange the preliminaries with Overberg. Van Beek was growing less and less manageable; he had sent in reams of stamped paper to Overberg, and the interest on several of the mortgages was six months over due; in fact the situation of affairs had become desperate. I charged Overberg to write to Van Beek that the Werve would be sold, in all probability, at the same time as my marriage with Francis took place; and I thought this would be enough to keep the lawyersquiet for a few days longer. I brought back some little presents for the General and Rolf, who were both highly pleased; and a plain set of earrings and a brooch for Francis, as the time had not yet arrived when I could offer her the diamonds I intended for my bride.On my return, to my great surprise, I found Francis sadder and more anxious than I had left her in the morning. She accepted my present, but seemed to be little interested in it. She retired early, and I followed her example, as I did not find Rolf’s company particularly interesting. Most of the night I spent in reflection and conjectures as to this change in Francis; for I had observed tears in her eyes when she bade me good-night. Once more I made up my mind that the coming day should put an end to all my doubts. At breakfast, Francis, less depressed than the night before, told us she had received a letter from Dr. D., of Utrecht, who gave her very encouraging news of the invalid in whom she was so much interested. I wished to propose to her a long walk in the wood; but when I came downstairs from my room, where I had gone after breakfast to make a change in my dress, I met Francis in the hall,arrayed in her riding-habit. This time she had put on an elegant hat and blue veil, and was waiting for her beautiful horse Tancredo, which the son of the farmer led up to the door saddled.“Give up your ride this morning, to oblige me,” I said to her, with a certain tone of impatience in my voice that could not escape her.She looked at me in surprise and silence as she played with her riding-whip.“You can take your ride an hour later,” I insisted.“I have a long ride before me, and I must be back before dinner.”“Then put it off until to-morrow. This is the first opportunity we have had to take a long walk since your grandfather fell ill. Don’t refuse me this pleasure.”“You always like to disarrange my plans, Leo.”“To-day I have good reasons for doing so, Francis; believe me, to-morrow it will be too late.”“Really? Your words sound threatening,” she said, attempting to smile. “Well, you shall have your way,” and she threw aside her riding-whip pettishly. “You’ll have to wait until I change my dress; I cannot walk in my riding-habit.”Tancredo was sent back to the stable, and in much less time than I could have imagined my cousin reappeared in a very neat walking-costume.“And where shall we go?” she asked.“Well, into the wood, I suppose.”“That’s right, the weather is splendid: we can walk as far as the round point, and rest there on the rustic bench which you perhaps remember.”And so we walked through the great lane towards the wood, silent, just because we had so much to say to each other. I had resolved to speak; but I could not decide in my own mind how to begin the subject. She herself seemed to have a thousand other things to talk about beside the one I wished to come to. At length I tried to change the subject by saying it would be necessary for me to fix a day for my return to the Hague.“I was expecting it, Leopold.”“And are you sorry I am going away?”“I ought to say ‘No,’ by way of opposition, which is the only suitable answer to such a foolish question.”“But I—will come back, if you would like it.”“No, Leopold, I should not like it. And I stillbelieve you would have done better to go away the day I first advised you to do so.”“Have I been a burden to you, Francis?”“You know better than that. You know I have much to thank you for: you have stood by me in days of suffering, and borne my troubles with me; you have been open, frank, and obliging with me; in a word, you have spoilt me, and I shall feel my loneliness doubled when you are gone.”“Not for long, though, for I will come back soon—with—with a trousseau!”“And, in the name of goodness, for whom?”“For whom, indeed, but my well-beloved cousin Francis Mordaunt!”“That’s a poor, very poor sort of jest, sir; you know very well that your cousin Mordaunt has no intentions of ever marrying.”“Listen to me, Francis! When we first met on the heath, and you told me your intentions on this point, I had no reasons for trying to dissuade you from them; but to-day, as you yourself know, the case is different. You will recollect the freedom with which I have pointed out to you any defects which I considered a blemish on your noble character. Doyou think I should have taken such a liberty if I had not conceived the idea, fostered the hope, of your one day consenting to become—my wife?”The word, the all-important word, was at last said.“Well, indeed, Leo,” she began with a profound sigh, “since you force me to speak seriously, I must remind you of my last warning, ‘not to use such language to me;’ it cannot, it may not be.”“And why not, Francis? Did I deceive myself when I thought I was not altogether indifferent to you?”She turned aside her face in silence, but I was sure I heard something like a suppressed sigh.“Is it possible you are not disengaged?” I inquired, taking her hand gently and placing myself before her so that I could look into her eyes.“Disengaged! Certainly I am disengaged,” she answered bitterly. “I have done my best to remain so; and I have all along told you I must be independent. It is necessary.”“Ah, I comprehend, Francis!” I exclaimed, carried away by an absurd jealousy; “you are still waiting for your Lord William.”“I?” she returned with passion; “I waiting forLord William, who never loved me, who caused me to commit a thousand follies, who broke my heart, and who must now be nearly sixty! No, Leopold; don’t humiliate me by pretending to be jealous of Lord William. Could I have told you the history of his stay with us if I still loved him?”“Is it then only a whim of Major Frank, who will surrender to no man, but prefers his savage kind of independence?”“Don’t torment me in this way, Leopold. You can break my heart, but you cannot overcome my objections.”“Then I will discover this mysterious power which enthrals you,” I cried, full of anger and pain.“You already know the duties I have to fulfil, Leopold. Why should you throw yourself into this abyss of misfortunes and miseries, in which I am sinking? and I shall never be able to get out of it my whole life.”“I wish to know your miseries, my dear Francis, to share them with you, and help you to bear them. We will overcome them together—be assured of that, my adored——”Passion was getting the mastery over me; I caughther in my arms and pressed her to my breast. She made no resistance, but, as if wearied with the struggle, she rested her head on my shoulder—her head so charming in its luxuriancy of golden curls. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were crimson. I thought myself in the seventh heaven.Suddenly a croaking voice broke the profound silence of the wood—“Don’t let me disturb you. Ah! Now Missy has a lover, it is not surprising she neglects the little boy.”Such were the words we heard close to us, uttered by a hoarse voice and in the coarsest of country dialects.Chapter XXXI.Francis, pale with terror, disengaged herself from my embrace, and stepped forward a few paces. As for myself, I stood as if thunder-struck.The person who had spoken these offensive words, and who had doubtless been watching our movements for some time, was an old peasant woman bearing a strong resemblance to the witches in Macbeth. Her sharp black eyes, bare skinny arms, as red and dry as a boiled crab, her face wrinkled and tanned, her blue checked handkerchief tied over her white cap, and the stick on which she supported herself, all contributed to call up before my mind one of those creatures our ancestors would have burned alive. I confess I wished her such a fate when she advanced towards Francis and said, with her ingrained impertinence—“Now, miss—now I see what you have been so busy about the last five weeks, that you have never once had time to come and see the child.”“My grandfather has been ill, Mrs. Jool.”“Yes, rich people’s sickness—there’s no great danger; but the young gent there, that’s another thing, eh? I tell you all the village is talking about it.”“About what, Mrs. Jool?” asked Francis, indignantly.“Your neglecting the child for——”“Listen to me, Mrs. Jool,” interrupted Francis, in a calm and firm tone: “neither you nor the village have any right to interfere with my business.”“Hum! the month is up, and a week gone in the second, and when Trineke1is not paid the boy suffers for it.”“You shall be paid to-morrow; but I warn you if the child suffer on account of a week’s delay in payment, either at your hands or your daughter’s, I will take him away from you. To-morrow, or the day after, I shall come to see him myself, and I shall make inquiries of the neighbours.”“What! You would disgrace me and my daughter by taking him away? You try it! we shall then see who is the strongest.”And the insolent, vulgar woman set her arms akimbo, as she whined out—“This is what one gets for defending great folks.”“It has cost you no sacrifices, Mrs. Jool; for you have simply tried to make money out of your daughter’s misfortune.”“And he must have shoes and socks, or else he will have to run about bare-legged in clogs like a peasant’s child.”“I will provide them, Mrs. Jool; and now I have heard enough. This is the path which leads to the village.”“What a hurry you’re in!”“These are private grounds; do you understand that? Now take yourself off, or——”“Marry come up! how anxious you are to get rid of me. Well, well, I am going. Otherwise I am afraid this dandy will play the policeman for her.” And so she limped off along the path indicated, mumbling all the way.Francis then turned to me and said—“Well, Leopold, this incident will serve to enlighten you; behold a power opposed to my freedom and happiness.”“I understand,” I answered, trying to assume a calmness I did not possess; “I understand, Francis—you are too honest to bind any man to you for life, saddled as you are with such a burden. But why did you not confide this terrible secret to me sooner? I will attempt the impossible to save you!”“But, Leopold, what are you thinking of?” she responded, quite red with emotion; “you surely do not suspect me of anything unworthy? You comprehend that my honour is not herein concerned, though I must suffer for the deplorable consequences of the fault I committed.”“I am listening, Francis; but, excuse me, I do not rightly understand you. Is this not a question of a child which you are obliged to maintain?”“Yes, certainly; and that’s not the heaviest part of the burden. I have also to maintain the mother.”“Francis!” I exclaimed, in a transport of joy and relief.“Now it is my turn to say I don’t understand you,” she rejoined, regarding me with an adorable simplicity.“Do you think it a light charge for me, in my position, to bring up a child, and provide for its mother whom I have sent to a private asylum?”I thanked Heaven from the bottom of my heart that she, in her innocency, did not suspect the conclusions I had drawn from the words and manner of the old witch.“This is the fatal consequence of my rash obstinacy with poor Harry Blount,” she continued. “You have heard me speak of the accident before. He was carried in a dying state into the cottage of this Mrs. Jool and her daughter. In my despair, I repeated several times: ‘It is my fault; I have killed him, I have killed him.’ The daughter knelt beside Blount in the wildest agony; and Harry could just murmur, ‘My wife, my poor wife; have pity on her, Miss Francis!’ I did not know until this moment that they were secretly married. I promised solemnly I would care for her, and even if I had made no promise I should still have done all I have done for her.“The mother always was, and is, a bad woman; she had, as it were, thrown her daughter into the arms of Blount, whom she considered a good match.After the funeral, she made such good use of my words uttered in despair, and spread such nefarious reports in the village, that I was accused in all earnest of being his murderer. In fact, we were obliged to consult the magistrate, a friend of ours, as to the measures we ought to take to contradict and put a stop to such slanderous charges. This, of course, did not relieve me of my obligations towards the daughter, in whom, very soon after the birth of her child, symptoms of insanity manifested themselves. The child had to be taken from her, and it was given in care to a sister of hers in the neighbouring village, who had just lost her youngest born. Perhaps you would imagine she took it out of sisterly charity; but no, she insisted upon my paying her monthly wages as I should have to do any other wet nurse. Besides, I had to do what I could for the poor mother. It was most fortunate for me that on the occasion of my visit to Utrecht I met with Aunt Roselaer, otherwise I could not have afforded the expense the mother has cost under the care of Dr. D. Mrs. Jool, not caring to live alone, went to the house of her married daughter under the pretext of watching over the little one; but the fact is, she would there havea better opportunity of extorting money from me, and this she does under all kinds of pretences. The child has long been weaned, and ought not to be left in their charge. I am always threatening to take it away from them, but I have not yet done so; for, to confess a truth, I have recoiled from the rumours and false charges such a change would give rise to. The mother and child are now costing me the greater part of my income. My grandfather finds fault with me about it, for he regards it as so much money thrown away. Now, Leopold, do you think I could draw a man I really loved into such a maëlstrom as this?”“The man worthy to possess you, Francis, will not be drawn in, but will aid you in getting out of it.”“It is impossible; I will never abandon this child of Harry Blount’s.”“I would never advise you to do anything of the sort. I know the way to treat such people as Mrs. Jool. The child must be taken away from her and brought up by respectable farmers; perhaps the Pauwelsens would take him. To-morrow I will go with you to the village——”“You will only stir a wasps’ nest about your ears.”“Oh, never mind; I am not afraid of a sting.”“It’s bad enough that this woman has been playing the spy on us to-day.”“When she sees us together to-morrow she will understand that it is useless playing the spy on us any longer.”“But then she will make us the talk of the country-side. You don’t know the wickedness that woman’s capable of.”“Well, what can she say more than that we are an engaged couple? And is this not true, Francis?” I said, gently taking her hand in mine.“You come back to the subject again, even now you know all,” she murmured; “but you have not calculated all the troubles and burdens which would fall upon you: Rolf, whom we could not send away from the Werve; my grandfather with his large wants—and small income. Oh yes, I know you are going back to the Hague to reconcile yourself with your uncle the minister, as the General has advised you to do; and I understand why. But don’t do so for my sake, Leopold, for you have yourself said it would demean you.”“Reassure yourself on that point, Francis; I may forgive my uncle and seek to be reconciled to him, as my religion bids me; but never for the sake of his favours. But why so many difficulties? Don’t you see I love you, Francis; that during the last few days I have been at some pains to suppress my feelings, and have therein succeeded better than I gave myself credit for; that, now I have told you all, we must either part for ever, or I must have the assurance you will accept me as your husband? I desire it, Francis; I desire it with a firmness of will that despises all objections and will remove all difficulties.”“Leopold,” she replied, “don’t talk to me like this. No one ever spoke to me as you have done—you make me beside myself. And yet I ought to resist. I don’t wish to be an obstacle in the way of your happiness, whatever it may cost me.”I took both her hands in mine. “Francis,” I said, “I love you!” This was my only answer.“You persist? Can it be? May I still be happy!”“Enough, Francis; you are mine! I will never forsake you; you are mine for life!”“For life!” she repeated after me, becoming so pale that I was afraid she would faint. “Leopold, yes, I am yours; I put my trust in you, and I love you as I have never loved before—never before,” she whispered quite low.“At last!” I cried; and pressed the first kiss of love on her lips.I need not tell you we came in too late for luncheon. It is true we were not hungry. We returned to the house slowly, and almost in silence, and we even slackened our pace as we drew nearer the Castle. Francis, especially, seemed loath to enter.“Let us rest on the moss at the foot of this large oak tree,” she said; “it seems to me that all my misfortunes will come back to me as soon as I enter yonder. I cannot yet separate myself from my happiness. Oh, Leopold! I wish we could fly away together, that no one might interpose between us two.”“We will fly away, dearest; but first we must go through certain formalities which will give us the right to appear in the world as man and wife, and lift up our heads with the best of them.”“And then will follow the breakfast, the visits, and the congratulations of mean and false people, who come with a hypocritical smile to wish us joy, whilst behind our backs they will make a mock of the man who has dared to marry Major Frank!”“Oh, what a supposition!” I replied; “you must pay for that,” kissing her sad face into cheerfulness.“I don’t understand,” she continued, “how people can treat so serious a subject as marriage with such lightness. The woman especially makes an immense sacrifice—her name, her will, her individual self; a sacrifice which I always considered it would be impossible for me to make, until I met you.”“And now?” I asked, kneeling before her on the moss, the better to see into her beautiful eyes, which sparkled with happiness and tenderness.“Now I have no longer so many objections,” she replied with her sweetest smile. “But do not remain in that position before me, Leopold. It is only acting a lie, for I foresee you will be my lord and master. But let us now go in, my dear, otherwise they will be alarmed about us at the Castle. They won’t know what to think of our long absence.”“Just let me say, Francis, it must be with us as Tennyson puts it—“Sit side by side, full summed in all their powers,———Self-reverent each, and reverencing each:Distinct in individualities,But like each other even as those who love.”“Exactly my opinion!” she exclaimed, applauding the sentiment.1Trineke is a diminutive of Catherine.Chapter XXXII.It was just as well we went in, for we met Rolf and Fritz, who had been sent out in search of us, as the General, though in a good humour, was most impatient to speak to us. When we entered his room he was arranging his papers, and did not give us time to announce our engagement, as we intended.“Francis,” he cried, “why did you stay out so long when I have such good news to tell you?”“That’s just what I have to tell you, grandfather; but what can have pleased you so much? You have not been made heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property, have you?”“It comes almost to the same thing, my child. Know then that the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property asks your hand in marriage. It is one of the conditionsof the will; and I believe he will be agreeable to you.”I smiled, though I found that Overberg and Van Beek had been in too great a hurry to inform the old Baron of the real state of affairs. I had wished to be the first to break this agreeable surprise to Francis.She stepped forward towards the General, and in a firm voice she said—“I am sorry, grandfather, to disappoint you. The gentleman comes too late, for I have just promised my hand and heart to my cousin, Leopold van Zonshoven—and that is the good news I came to tell you.”“But that’s all the better, dear child—all the better; for the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property and your cousin Leopold van Zonshoven are one and the same person; and on the condition that you should marry the heir.”Francis, turning on me brusquely, cried, “It is not true, Leopold? Oh, say it is not true!” she exclaimed, violently agitated.“Then I should not speak the truth,” I answered. “The only difference for you,” I continued, “is this: you thought you were giving your heart to a ‘poorgentleman,’ and now, like a prince in the fairy tales, he turns out to be a millionaire. Can such a surprise be disagreeable to you?”“Not a disagreeable surprise to me”—she almost shrieked, with scintillating eyes and flushed cheeks—“to find you have put on a mask to deceive me! Have you not succeeded in inspiring me with esteem for you by your proud and dignified behaviour, and the elevated sentiments you professed? And do you think I can be happy to find that all this was but a comedy? Could a gentleman have treated me so? But you have deceived yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven. I gave my heart to a young man without fortune, whose upright and noble character I admired, and in whom I had more confidence than in myself; but for the intriguer, who, to seize upon my aunt’s fortune and make sure of it, has put on a disguise to win the heart of the woman he was ordered to marry, for this hypocrite, this pretended sage, I have nothing but—my contempt!”“Be careful, Francis; I know your violent temper often causes you to say that which in cooler moments you regret; but don’t insult in such a manner the man you have just accepted as your husband—a manwhom no one ever dared to address in such language, neither will he meekly bear it from any living being.”“Need I make any respectful apologies, or do I owe any excuses to you, who have deceived me, lied to me, who have introduced yourself here like a spy, and carried on your mean and degrading speculations up to the very moment when you thought it impossible for me to retract my word? Once more, sir, I tell you, you are mistaken in my character. I will never pardon a man who has abused my confidence!”“I have not abused your confidence, Francis,” I answered, in as calm and gentle a tone as I could; “I have only been studying your character, and trying to gain your affections, before I would venture an avowal of my sentiments—that is all I have done.”“You have been false, I tell you. How can I any longer believe in your love? You came here to make what is called a good stroke of business, to gain your million. It is true, I loved you such as you were not as you now appear in my eyes. I will not be disposed of in marriage by any person dead or alive;and as for you, I refuse your offer. Do youunderstandme? I refuse you!”Upon this she fell back in an armchair, pale as death.I was myself obliged to lean on the back of a chair, for I felt my legs trembling under me. Rolf, tender-hearted as ever, had withdrawn to a corner of the room with tears in his eyes. The General, with agony depicted on his face, sat in his chair wringing his hands, and seemed unable to move from the spot.“Francis, Francis,” he said, “don’t let your temper overmaster you in this way. Reflect that the Castle is mortgaged to the last stone, and that the last six months’ interest is not yet paid. If sold to-morrow it will not fetch a third of the amount for which I have mortgaged it, and it is only by the generosity of Jonker Leopold that the sale can any longer be delayed. He has offered to take it off my hands, together with all the mortgages with which it is burdened, and to allow me a yearly income which will make me comfortable for life; but you must marry him, otherwise all our plans come to nought. Understand that, and don’t insult a man who has such generous intentions towards us. He is stillwilling to forgive you, if you don’t persevere in your senseless refusal, I am sure; for I have for some time already been aware he loves you. And we have not to deal with him alone; there is a will made, and executors and lawyers appointed to see its provisions carried out. Now what shall I write to Overberg?”“Write, grandfather,” said Francis, rousing herself with an effort, “that Francis Mordaunt will not suffer herself to be disposed of in marriage by anybody’s testamentary disposition; that she will neither sell herself for one million nor for two millions, and that she has decidedly refused Jonker van Zonshoven’s offer of marriage.”Feeling confident Francis would do me justice when more calm and resigned, but feeling also the necessity of not giving way to violence in dealing with a character such as hers, I said—“I who have your promise and will not release you from it, I request the General to write to Overberg that Miss Mordaunt has accepted my offer, and that the transfer of the Castle de Werve can forthwith be concluded.”“If I will consent to the sale,” interposed Francis, still pale and unmoved.“I beg your pardon, Miss Mordaunt,” I rejoined, “your grandfather is the sole owner of the Castle; and during his life the will by which it is bequeathed to you has no force nor value.”“Ah! if she could only be brought to see all the circumstances in their true light,” sighed Von Zwenken.“Well, uncle, you write what I have requested you to write; you know only too well the consequences of any other decision.”“He wants you to write lies!” cried Francis, exasperatingly; “he’ll stick to his million, that’s clear.”“Francis,” said the General, with the tone of a supplicant, “if you knew all I know! You are insulting a man who is generosity itself, who has power to ruin us all, and yet who seeks to save us if you will simply take the hand he holds out to you. Remember he can force us to sell the Castle if we do not consent to hand it over to him, however much against our own will.”“It is possible that he has secretly acquired the power to drive us out of the Werve like beggars, but he cannot compel me to marry him.”“We shall see about that,” I rejoined, proudly.“You dare to talk to me of constraint—to me!” she cried, becoming furious, and advancing towards me—“you, Leopold,” she added, with an accent of real pain.“Yes, Francis,” I answered, resolved to follow up my advantage, “you shall submit to the constraint of your own conscience, which must tell you that you owe me an apology. I am going away. Farewell. Try to reflect on this in your calmer moments. You have touched me to the quick; you have wounded my feelings of honour and my heart. Do not let me wait too long, or the wound will become incurable.”I gave her a last look of gentle reproach, but her glassy eyes seemed insensible to all around her. I shook hands with the old Baron, who, with bowed head, was weeping like a child. Rolf followed me to my room, and besought me not to leave the Castle in such haste.“She is like this,” he said, “when anything goes wrong with her. Within an hour she will regret what she has said, I am sure; the storm was too violent to last long.”But my mind was made up. I packed up my luggage, slowly, I must confess, and always listening for a well-known step and a knock, which should announce Francis repentant and seeking a reconciliation. But she did not come.I was miserable beyond all expression. It was like being shipwrecked in the harbour after a long voyage. To think this was the same woman at whose feet I had kneeled an hour ago, and whose hand I had kissed in a delirium of pleasure. And now she had turned upon me like a fury and declined my offer with contempt! I reflected that I ought to have acted more frankly and straightforwardly with her. For a moment the idea occurred to me to renounce all my rights as to Aunt Sophia’s property; but, after all, what good end could it serve—it would only reduce us both to poverty. I promised myself that, once arrived at Zutphen, I would send her in writing a complete statement of how affairs stood, and enclose aunt’s letter, which, out of delicacy, I had so far kept to myself. I would add a few words of explanation, and I doubted not that, in her calmer moments, she would do me justice.And thus I acted; but as all the documents togethermade up too large a packet for the post, I confided them to a waiter at the hotel, who was to hand them over to a carrier calling every day at the Werve for orders. I flattered myself I should speedily receive an answer, and all the following day I passed in a feverish excitement, only increased in the evening when no answer came. During the night I never slept a moment. Another day passed, and still no answer; and now I gave myself up to the most complete despair. There was nothing for me to do but settle my affairs in all haste at Zutphen and return to the Hague.I kept Overberg in the dark about my rupture with Francis, only telling him pressing business called me back to the Hague. I signed all the papers he put before me, and told him I would return as soon as possible. The fact was I felt seriously unwell, and, as you know, home is the best place under such circumstances; I thought I could there immerse myself in my favourite studies, but I only remember feeling an unbearable weight of oppression come over me.

Chapter XXIX.When I began to reflect on the coming day, I remembered that it would be necessary for me to congratulate my uncle on his birthday; and I felt it would require a stretch of the forms of politeness to do this in a becoming manner. It occurred to me now that if Francis could only see through that little glass window in my breast, she would have the best of the argument in future on the subject of the conventionalities of society; for I confess to you, dear William, I had become a convert to Aunt Sophia’s opinions with regard to this same General von Zwenken, and now I admired her prudence in preventing her fortune from falling into such hands.As the birthday fell on a Sunday we all went to the village church, a duty which the General considered his position as lord of the manor imposed uponhim; and one which he performed as he would have done any other duty laid down by the military code. The clergyman was old, monotonous, and wearisome. The greater part of the congregation went to sleep under the effects of his sermon. Francis took up a Bible and pretended to read, whilst it seemed to me the wakeful part of the congregation paid more attention to us than to their minister; and the remarks they whispered about one to another struck me as not being very favourable to us. The General alone kept his eyes fixed on the preacher throughout the sermon; but whether his mind was so intently occupied with the subject matter, I will not take upon myself to say.On our return the fête commenced. The village schoolmaster brought up his scholars, who recited a string of verses glorifying the Baron as patron of the school, though I doubt whether he had ever entered it. And I believe the same verses had done duty for several generations on similar occasions, when the owners of the Werve admitted the master and his scholars to an audience.Then came the Pauwelsens from the farm, who still address the General as their landlord; afterthem some of the villagers. All these people were regaled with cake and chocolate. The burgomaster1called in his turn; he was a regular rustic, and paid a good deal more attention to me than to the General. He evidently saw in me a mystery which excited his curiosity.Captain Willibald also put in an appearance, and after congratulating my uncle, handed him a box of cigars, saying—“They are the old sort; I know your taste exactly.”“Certainly you do, my good fellow; it is an agreeable present. Here in the country one must lay in a stock. What say you, Leo?”“To my shame, I must own I did not know what to buy you on such an occasion; but I will take care to make up for this omission of mine very soon.”Uncle rejoined in a whisper—“The one thing I should like you to do is to reconcile yourself with your uncle, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.”Happily it was not necessary for me to reply to this remark. Francis entered the room, and quitecharmed me by her manner. She was cordial to all the visitors—I thought I had never seen a better hostess. I saw how amiable she could be when quite at her ease, and not beset by fears of what envious tongues might say as soon as her back was turned.The dinner was beautifully arranged. The Captain had put on his full-dress uniform, the General his also, and I had given some extra attention to my toilette. Francis was dressed plainly as usual, without much regard for the day or the visitors; and yet there was something original in her style of dress, an elegance which seemed to heighten her beauty considerably. I was struck by the richness and weight of the silver, all engraved with the family coat-of-arms. I felt sure that the Captain and Francis had put their money together to get it from the pawnbrokers for the occasion. At table she took her place between the clergyman and myself. The village lawyer, the postmaster, and some rough-looking country farmers, together with the churchwardens and several members of the local board, had been invited to the dinner. Rolf took his place in the midst of them, and soon loosened their tongues bypointing out the various sorts of wine, and filling up their glasses with no sparing hand. Even the clergyman I found to be much more entertaining at table than in the pulpit, and the conversation never flagged. Fritz, assisted for the nonce by one of the sons of farmer Pauwelsen, had donned a livery which I felt pretty certain was the uniform of an officer metamorphosed. He was more attentive, and more particular than ever in his manner of serving every one; it seemed to me as if he had something on his mind, he was so solemn and serious. In spite of myself I could not help thinking of the utter ruin this once opulent house had fallen into, and of the unhappy son banished from his father’s table. As for the General, I had never yet seen him in such good spirits. The table so well served, the appetizing dishes, and the wines which he had such a delicate manner of tasting—all this just suited his epicurean habits. Afterwards we drank coffee in the garden, and Rolf insisted upon our drinking a bowl of May wine; for he was most anxious to display his skill in the composition of this very famous German beverage.This completed the entertainment, for the countrypeople are accustomed to retire early; and the evening was still young when a great lumbering coach drew up before the hall door, to convey the visitors back to the village.I had hoped to meet Francis and propose a walk round the garden, but she was nowhere to be found. It appeared she had run over to the Pauwelsens with some of the dainties for the old bed-ridden grandmother. And her first care on her return was to inquire the whereabouts of her grandfather.“He must not be left alone for a moment to-day,” she said to me; “I have not been at my ease all this day.”“Because of Rudolf?” I inquired.“I can never be sure what whim he will take into his head next. But you are sure that he is gone?”“Certainly, before I was awake; but he left his pocket-book on the table. I will take it to him to-morrow.”“Don’t do anything of the sort, I am sure he will come back; this thought has pursued me like my shadow all this day. But tell me what you thought of my dinner.”“You were a charming hostess, Francis. How I should like to see you mistress of a well-furnished house of your own!”“And one in which it would not be necessary to take the silver out of pawn when I expected visitors,” she replied bitterly.“My dear cousin, I know this must have been a bitter trouble to you,” I answered compassionately.“This I feel the most humiliating of all; but I did it to please my old grandfather, upon whom I can be severe enough at times about his weaknesses. Rolf, who in spite of his faults is the best-natured fellow in the world, went to the town of——, and we polished it up ourselves. We would not let Fritz into the secret.”“And to me, Francis, to whom you owe nothing, you have given much pleasure, by surprising me with this little Russian leather case——”“Don’t mention such a trifle. I only wished to mark the day on which you became my friend.”“Yes, indeed, your friend for life,” I answered, gently drawing her arm within mine. This word had given me courage, it rendered me bold. “I thank you for that word, Francis; but it is not yetenough. Let me be to you more than a friend; permit me——”“More than a friend?” she cried, visibly agitated. “I beseech you, Leopold, let us not aim at what cannot be realized, nor destroy this relationship which is dear to me, by striving after the impossible. Promise me seriously, Leopold, you will not mention this subject to me again, or use any such language to me.”This answer seemed very like a formal refusal, and yet I remarked an emotion in her voice which to a certain extent reassured me.“And why should it be impossible, Francis?” I resumed, mustering up all my courage.This time I got no answer; she uttered a shriek and rushed off to the summer-house, I following her. There a frightful spectacle awaited us.Rudolf, the miserable Rudolf, was on his knees before his father, kissing his hand. The latter was seated on the bench, to all appearance motionless. Suddenly Rudolf uttered a cry of terror and despair.“I warned you,” said Francis; “you have been the death of your father.”“No, Francis, no, he has fainted. But I foundhim in this condition; I swear to you by all that’s dear to me that I found him thus.”The fact was that the General had become stiff and motionless as a corpse. The trellis work alone had prevented his falling to the ground. His face had turned a little blue, his eyes were fixed and wide open, and his features distorted. Francis rubbed his temples with the contents of her scent-bottle. This friction revived him a little; but prompt medical aid was necessary.“Tell me where the village doctor lives,” cried Rudolf, beside himself in his agitation, “that I may fly to him.”“It will be better to send Fritz,” replied Francis, in a cold, decided tone.I ran off in search of the old and faithful servant, to whom I explained the state of affairs.“The General has had an attack!” he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, “and it is my fault!”“How so?”“I ought not to have allowed it—but I—I could not drive away the only son of the house.”“Of course not, but keep your own counsel and make haste.”And the old soldier started off at a speed I had thought him little capable of.When I returned the General was in the same condition; Rudolf, leaning against a tree, was wringing his hands.“That will do no good,” Francis said to him; “help me to carry him to his room; Leopold will give us a hand.”“That’s not necessary—he is my father, and it is my place to carry him.”In an instant he took up the old man with so much gentleness, and yet with such firmness of muscle, that you would have thought he carried a babe. He refused my assistance even up the staircase. He laid the old Baron on his bed, with his eyes still fixed, and quite unconscious.“Thank God! there he is safe,” said Rudolf, falling into a chair. “I have had many a hard piece of work in my life, but never one in which my heart was so deeply concerned. May I stay here until he regains consciousness?” he asked of Francis like a supplicant.“I feel that it is impossible for you to leave at such a moment,” she answered; “but we must call in Rolf, and if he sees you here——”“Oh, if he makes the slightest to do I’ll twist his neck about like a chicken’s.”It occurred to me that the more simple and prudent plan would be for me to go and make the Captain acquainted with what had happened, and obtain his promise to keep silent and to pretend not to know anything about Rudolf’s presence. He was enjoying his after-dinner nap when I found him, and I was afraid he would have an attack of apoplexy when I told him about the coming of Rudolf. His anger seemed to make him forget the gravity of the General’s position. I endeavoured to make him understand that the accident might possibly be attributed to a fit of cold, caused by drinking May wine in the cool of the evening so shortly after the copious dinner of which the General had partaken; but he had made up his mind that Rudolf was the cause of the misfortune, and he asserted that his duty as a soldier and an officer was to have him forthwith arrested as a deserter.It was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get this fixed idea out of his head. I succeeded, however, at length in proving to him that the duty which he owed to humanity far surpassed all othersat present; that it would be an unheard-of cruelty to arrest the son now at the bedside of a father, dying, for all we knew; that even Francis herself had consented to his staying, and that we were in duty bound to cast a veil over the family secrets. Finally the inborn good-nature of Rolf triumphed, and we went together to the General’s room.The doctor had just arrived. He considered the case serious, and said it would be necessary to bleed the patient. Fritz and Rolf were left to aid the doctor and undress the invalid. Meantime I led Francis into a cabinet where Rudolf had taken refuge and was breathlessly awaiting the doctor’s verdict.As we had left the door ajar we heard the patient recover consciousness, and call for Francis in a strangely altered voice, and address questions to her in a frightened tone; which questions the doctor, not understanding, put down to delirium, though they made it clear enough to us that he had seen and recognized Rudolf, although he mentioned no names.“If the patient is not kept strictly quiet, I fear it will turn to brain fever,” said the doctor on leaving.“Would you like to see the person you referred tojust now?” I asked the General in a whisper, as soon as we were alone.“No, indeed! I know he is here; he must leave in peace, and at once, never more to appear before my eyes, or—I will curse him.”We could hear a suppressed sigh in the neighbouring cabinet. Rudolf had understood.Rolf and Francis undertook the duty of watching at the bedside of the patient during the night; and I led Rudolf to my room—I may say supported him, for the strong man reeled. He threw himself on the sofa and wept like a child.“It is finished,” he said. “I could not, after all, have expected anything else, and I have my deserts.”“Francis was in the right, you see; you ought not to have broken your promise.”“It is not my fault I broke it. Fritz caught me this morning just as I was scaling the garden wall, and I was obliged to make myself known to him, otherwise he would have given me in charge as a housebreaker. He then offered to hide me in an unoccupied room on the ground floor until to-night. Thence, unseen, I could watch the movements of my father; and when his guests were gone, I saw himwalking alone towards the summer-house, where he sat down, and, as I thought, he had fallen asleep. Then it was I ventured out of my hiding-place and approached him. It appears, however, he must both have seen me and recognized me. But now I have said enough, and this time I will go away for good. God bless him! May the Almighty strengthen dear Francis.”I persuaded him to spend this night with me, and try to get a little rest. From time to time I went to make inquiries about the General, and towards morning I was able to inform Rudolf that his father had passed a fair night and was now sleeping calmly; he could therefore leave with his mind more at ease. I accompanied him a part of the way outside the grounds, and promised to keep him informed of the state of his father’s health. He gave me his address, as I was to write to him under the name of Richard Smithson, and he then parted from me with the most passionate expressions of gratitude for the little kindnesses I had been able to show him.1In Holland every village has its burgomaster, who acts as chairman of the local board.

When I began to reflect on the coming day, I remembered that it would be necessary for me to congratulate my uncle on his birthday; and I felt it would require a stretch of the forms of politeness to do this in a becoming manner. It occurred to me now that if Francis could only see through that little glass window in my breast, she would have the best of the argument in future on the subject of the conventionalities of society; for I confess to you, dear William, I had become a convert to Aunt Sophia’s opinions with regard to this same General von Zwenken, and now I admired her prudence in preventing her fortune from falling into such hands.

As the birthday fell on a Sunday we all went to the village church, a duty which the General considered his position as lord of the manor imposed uponhim; and one which he performed as he would have done any other duty laid down by the military code. The clergyman was old, monotonous, and wearisome. The greater part of the congregation went to sleep under the effects of his sermon. Francis took up a Bible and pretended to read, whilst it seemed to me the wakeful part of the congregation paid more attention to us than to their minister; and the remarks they whispered about one to another struck me as not being very favourable to us. The General alone kept his eyes fixed on the preacher throughout the sermon; but whether his mind was so intently occupied with the subject matter, I will not take upon myself to say.

On our return the fête commenced. The village schoolmaster brought up his scholars, who recited a string of verses glorifying the Baron as patron of the school, though I doubt whether he had ever entered it. And I believe the same verses had done duty for several generations on similar occasions, when the owners of the Werve admitted the master and his scholars to an audience.

Then came the Pauwelsens from the farm, who still address the General as their landlord; afterthem some of the villagers. All these people were regaled with cake and chocolate. The burgomaster1called in his turn; he was a regular rustic, and paid a good deal more attention to me than to the General. He evidently saw in me a mystery which excited his curiosity.

Captain Willibald also put in an appearance, and after congratulating my uncle, handed him a box of cigars, saying—

“They are the old sort; I know your taste exactly.”

“Certainly you do, my good fellow; it is an agreeable present. Here in the country one must lay in a stock. What say you, Leo?”

“To my shame, I must own I did not know what to buy you on such an occasion; but I will take care to make up for this omission of mine very soon.”

Uncle rejoined in a whisper—

“The one thing I should like you to do is to reconcile yourself with your uncle, the Minister for Foreign Affairs.”

Happily it was not necessary for me to reply to this remark. Francis entered the room, and quitecharmed me by her manner. She was cordial to all the visitors—I thought I had never seen a better hostess. I saw how amiable she could be when quite at her ease, and not beset by fears of what envious tongues might say as soon as her back was turned.

The dinner was beautifully arranged. The Captain had put on his full-dress uniform, the General his also, and I had given some extra attention to my toilette. Francis was dressed plainly as usual, without much regard for the day or the visitors; and yet there was something original in her style of dress, an elegance which seemed to heighten her beauty considerably. I was struck by the richness and weight of the silver, all engraved with the family coat-of-arms. I felt sure that the Captain and Francis had put their money together to get it from the pawnbrokers for the occasion. At table she took her place between the clergyman and myself. The village lawyer, the postmaster, and some rough-looking country farmers, together with the churchwardens and several members of the local board, had been invited to the dinner. Rolf took his place in the midst of them, and soon loosened their tongues bypointing out the various sorts of wine, and filling up their glasses with no sparing hand. Even the clergyman I found to be much more entertaining at table than in the pulpit, and the conversation never flagged. Fritz, assisted for the nonce by one of the sons of farmer Pauwelsen, had donned a livery which I felt pretty certain was the uniform of an officer metamorphosed. He was more attentive, and more particular than ever in his manner of serving every one; it seemed to me as if he had something on his mind, he was so solemn and serious. In spite of myself I could not help thinking of the utter ruin this once opulent house had fallen into, and of the unhappy son banished from his father’s table. As for the General, I had never yet seen him in such good spirits. The table so well served, the appetizing dishes, and the wines which he had such a delicate manner of tasting—all this just suited his epicurean habits. Afterwards we drank coffee in the garden, and Rolf insisted upon our drinking a bowl of May wine; for he was most anxious to display his skill in the composition of this very famous German beverage.

This completed the entertainment, for the countrypeople are accustomed to retire early; and the evening was still young when a great lumbering coach drew up before the hall door, to convey the visitors back to the village.

I had hoped to meet Francis and propose a walk round the garden, but she was nowhere to be found. It appeared she had run over to the Pauwelsens with some of the dainties for the old bed-ridden grandmother. And her first care on her return was to inquire the whereabouts of her grandfather.

“He must not be left alone for a moment to-day,” she said to me; “I have not been at my ease all this day.”

“Because of Rudolf?” I inquired.

“I can never be sure what whim he will take into his head next. But you are sure that he is gone?”

“Certainly, before I was awake; but he left his pocket-book on the table. I will take it to him to-morrow.”

“Don’t do anything of the sort, I am sure he will come back; this thought has pursued me like my shadow all this day. But tell me what you thought of my dinner.”

“You were a charming hostess, Francis. How I should like to see you mistress of a well-furnished house of your own!”

“And one in which it would not be necessary to take the silver out of pawn when I expected visitors,” she replied bitterly.

“My dear cousin, I know this must have been a bitter trouble to you,” I answered compassionately.

“This I feel the most humiliating of all; but I did it to please my old grandfather, upon whom I can be severe enough at times about his weaknesses. Rolf, who in spite of his faults is the best-natured fellow in the world, went to the town of——, and we polished it up ourselves. We would not let Fritz into the secret.”

“And to me, Francis, to whom you owe nothing, you have given much pleasure, by surprising me with this little Russian leather case——”

“Don’t mention such a trifle. I only wished to mark the day on which you became my friend.”

“Yes, indeed, your friend for life,” I answered, gently drawing her arm within mine. This word had given me courage, it rendered me bold. “I thank you for that word, Francis; but it is not yetenough. Let me be to you more than a friend; permit me——”

“More than a friend?” she cried, visibly agitated. “I beseech you, Leopold, let us not aim at what cannot be realized, nor destroy this relationship which is dear to me, by striving after the impossible. Promise me seriously, Leopold, you will not mention this subject to me again, or use any such language to me.”

This answer seemed very like a formal refusal, and yet I remarked an emotion in her voice which to a certain extent reassured me.

“And why should it be impossible, Francis?” I resumed, mustering up all my courage.

This time I got no answer; she uttered a shriek and rushed off to the summer-house, I following her. There a frightful spectacle awaited us.

Rudolf, the miserable Rudolf, was on his knees before his father, kissing his hand. The latter was seated on the bench, to all appearance motionless. Suddenly Rudolf uttered a cry of terror and despair.

“I warned you,” said Francis; “you have been the death of your father.”

“No, Francis, no, he has fainted. But I foundhim in this condition; I swear to you by all that’s dear to me that I found him thus.”

The fact was that the General had become stiff and motionless as a corpse. The trellis work alone had prevented his falling to the ground. His face had turned a little blue, his eyes were fixed and wide open, and his features distorted. Francis rubbed his temples with the contents of her scent-bottle. This friction revived him a little; but prompt medical aid was necessary.

“Tell me where the village doctor lives,” cried Rudolf, beside himself in his agitation, “that I may fly to him.”

“It will be better to send Fritz,” replied Francis, in a cold, decided tone.

I ran off in search of the old and faithful servant, to whom I explained the state of affairs.

“The General has had an attack!” he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, “and it is my fault!”

“How so?”

“I ought not to have allowed it—but I—I could not drive away the only son of the house.”

“Of course not, but keep your own counsel and make haste.”

And the old soldier started off at a speed I had thought him little capable of.

When I returned the General was in the same condition; Rudolf, leaning against a tree, was wringing his hands.

“That will do no good,” Francis said to him; “help me to carry him to his room; Leopold will give us a hand.”

“That’s not necessary—he is my father, and it is my place to carry him.”

In an instant he took up the old man with so much gentleness, and yet with such firmness of muscle, that you would have thought he carried a babe. He refused my assistance even up the staircase. He laid the old Baron on his bed, with his eyes still fixed, and quite unconscious.

“Thank God! there he is safe,” said Rudolf, falling into a chair. “I have had many a hard piece of work in my life, but never one in which my heart was so deeply concerned. May I stay here until he regains consciousness?” he asked of Francis like a supplicant.

“I feel that it is impossible for you to leave at such a moment,” she answered; “but we must call in Rolf, and if he sees you here——”

“Oh, if he makes the slightest to do I’ll twist his neck about like a chicken’s.”

It occurred to me that the more simple and prudent plan would be for me to go and make the Captain acquainted with what had happened, and obtain his promise to keep silent and to pretend not to know anything about Rudolf’s presence. He was enjoying his after-dinner nap when I found him, and I was afraid he would have an attack of apoplexy when I told him about the coming of Rudolf. His anger seemed to make him forget the gravity of the General’s position. I endeavoured to make him understand that the accident might possibly be attributed to a fit of cold, caused by drinking May wine in the cool of the evening so shortly after the copious dinner of which the General had partaken; but he had made up his mind that Rudolf was the cause of the misfortune, and he asserted that his duty as a soldier and an officer was to have him forthwith arrested as a deserter.

It was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get this fixed idea out of his head. I succeeded, however, at length in proving to him that the duty which he owed to humanity far surpassed all othersat present; that it would be an unheard-of cruelty to arrest the son now at the bedside of a father, dying, for all we knew; that even Francis herself had consented to his staying, and that we were in duty bound to cast a veil over the family secrets. Finally the inborn good-nature of Rolf triumphed, and we went together to the General’s room.

The doctor had just arrived. He considered the case serious, and said it would be necessary to bleed the patient. Fritz and Rolf were left to aid the doctor and undress the invalid. Meantime I led Francis into a cabinet where Rudolf had taken refuge and was breathlessly awaiting the doctor’s verdict.

As we had left the door ajar we heard the patient recover consciousness, and call for Francis in a strangely altered voice, and address questions to her in a frightened tone; which questions the doctor, not understanding, put down to delirium, though they made it clear enough to us that he had seen and recognized Rudolf, although he mentioned no names.

“If the patient is not kept strictly quiet, I fear it will turn to brain fever,” said the doctor on leaving.

“Would you like to see the person you referred tojust now?” I asked the General in a whisper, as soon as we were alone.

“No, indeed! I know he is here; he must leave in peace, and at once, never more to appear before my eyes, or—I will curse him.”

We could hear a suppressed sigh in the neighbouring cabinet. Rudolf had understood.

Rolf and Francis undertook the duty of watching at the bedside of the patient during the night; and I led Rudolf to my room—I may say supported him, for the strong man reeled. He threw himself on the sofa and wept like a child.

“It is finished,” he said. “I could not, after all, have expected anything else, and I have my deserts.”

“Francis was in the right, you see; you ought not to have broken your promise.”

“It is not my fault I broke it. Fritz caught me this morning just as I was scaling the garden wall, and I was obliged to make myself known to him, otherwise he would have given me in charge as a housebreaker. He then offered to hide me in an unoccupied room on the ground floor until to-night. Thence, unseen, I could watch the movements of my father; and when his guests were gone, I saw himwalking alone towards the summer-house, where he sat down, and, as I thought, he had fallen asleep. Then it was I ventured out of my hiding-place and approached him. It appears, however, he must both have seen me and recognized me. But now I have said enough, and this time I will go away for good. God bless him! May the Almighty strengthen dear Francis.”

I persuaded him to spend this night with me, and try to get a little rest. From time to time I went to make inquiries about the General, and towards morning I was able to inform Rudolf that his father had passed a fair night and was now sleeping calmly; he could therefore leave with his mind more at ease. I accompanied him a part of the way outside the grounds, and promised to keep him informed of the state of his father’s health. He gave me his address, as I was to write to him under the name of Richard Smithson, and he then parted from me with the most passionate expressions of gratitude for the little kindnesses I had been able to show him.

1In Holland every village has its burgomaster, who acts as chairman of the local board.

1In Holland every village has its burgomaster, who acts as chairman of the local board.

Chapter XXX.The General escaped for this time, but his recovery was slow. He was weak, and both his arms and legs seemed as if they were paralyzed. I allowed myself to be easily persuaded to prolong my stay at the Werve, and I was able to render Francis many little services. One of us two had to be constantly at the side of the convalescent, for Rolf had better intentions than judgment. He let the General have just what he asked for, and would soon have brought on a relapse if we had not watched them both. Francis was very thankful to have me with her; and yet she could not be satisfied that it was possible for me to spare so much time from all my business. She little suspected that my most pressing and agreeable occupation was to remain at her side and win her affections. Her devotion to her grandfather wassublime; she forgot all the wrongs he had done her, and only reproached herself for having caused him pain by her plain speaking. Notwithstanding, as the old man gradually grew better, she was soon again convinced that a certain amount of firmness was absolutely necessary to manage him. During his illness he had requested me, in his first lucid moments, to receive and open all his letters. And in this way I became aware that he was engaged in “risky” speculations, and that he was making debts unknown to Francis. When he was well enough to talk on such a subject, I ventured to remonstrate with him, and to point out the consequences of persisting in such a course, both for himself and for Francis. He promised me he would give up all such speculations, and excused the past on the grounds that he wished to leave Francis something when he died. I was to make the best conditions I could for him in the sale of the Werve. It was time. Overberg consented to wait; but Van Beek, the executor of the will, a man as inflexible as the law itself, had lost all patience. And I was not yet sure of Francis. Weakness on my part, you will say; but no, it was delicacy—it was the fear of having to cut short mystay. I was afraid of the obstinacy of Francis—that she would not consent to a marriage even though I might have won her heart. I was constantly calling to mind that terrible sentence she had uttered in the garden: “You will not use such language to me again.” I shuddered at the very idea that a new attempt on my part might draw from her lips a definite and decidedNo.The old General had discovered my intentions—of that I was convinced. He was continually insisting upon a reconciliation with my uncle the minister, and that I should prepare Francis for the sale of the Werve. On this latter point, I assured him Francis would listen to reason, and, armed with his power of attorney, I went over to Zutphen to arrange the preliminaries with Overberg. Van Beek was growing less and less manageable; he had sent in reams of stamped paper to Overberg, and the interest on several of the mortgages was six months over due; in fact the situation of affairs had become desperate. I charged Overberg to write to Van Beek that the Werve would be sold, in all probability, at the same time as my marriage with Francis took place; and I thought this would be enough to keep the lawyersquiet for a few days longer. I brought back some little presents for the General and Rolf, who were both highly pleased; and a plain set of earrings and a brooch for Francis, as the time had not yet arrived when I could offer her the diamonds I intended for my bride.On my return, to my great surprise, I found Francis sadder and more anxious than I had left her in the morning. She accepted my present, but seemed to be little interested in it. She retired early, and I followed her example, as I did not find Rolf’s company particularly interesting. Most of the night I spent in reflection and conjectures as to this change in Francis; for I had observed tears in her eyes when she bade me good-night. Once more I made up my mind that the coming day should put an end to all my doubts. At breakfast, Francis, less depressed than the night before, told us she had received a letter from Dr. D., of Utrecht, who gave her very encouraging news of the invalid in whom she was so much interested. I wished to propose to her a long walk in the wood; but when I came downstairs from my room, where I had gone after breakfast to make a change in my dress, I met Francis in the hall,arrayed in her riding-habit. This time she had put on an elegant hat and blue veil, and was waiting for her beautiful horse Tancredo, which the son of the farmer led up to the door saddled.“Give up your ride this morning, to oblige me,” I said to her, with a certain tone of impatience in my voice that could not escape her.She looked at me in surprise and silence as she played with her riding-whip.“You can take your ride an hour later,” I insisted.“I have a long ride before me, and I must be back before dinner.”“Then put it off until to-morrow. This is the first opportunity we have had to take a long walk since your grandfather fell ill. Don’t refuse me this pleasure.”“You always like to disarrange my plans, Leo.”“To-day I have good reasons for doing so, Francis; believe me, to-morrow it will be too late.”“Really? Your words sound threatening,” she said, attempting to smile. “Well, you shall have your way,” and she threw aside her riding-whip pettishly. “You’ll have to wait until I change my dress; I cannot walk in my riding-habit.”Tancredo was sent back to the stable, and in much less time than I could have imagined my cousin reappeared in a very neat walking-costume.“And where shall we go?” she asked.“Well, into the wood, I suppose.”“That’s right, the weather is splendid: we can walk as far as the round point, and rest there on the rustic bench which you perhaps remember.”And so we walked through the great lane towards the wood, silent, just because we had so much to say to each other. I had resolved to speak; but I could not decide in my own mind how to begin the subject. She herself seemed to have a thousand other things to talk about beside the one I wished to come to. At length I tried to change the subject by saying it would be necessary for me to fix a day for my return to the Hague.“I was expecting it, Leopold.”“And are you sorry I am going away?”“I ought to say ‘No,’ by way of opposition, which is the only suitable answer to such a foolish question.”“But I—will come back, if you would like it.”“No, Leopold, I should not like it. And I stillbelieve you would have done better to go away the day I first advised you to do so.”“Have I been a burden to you, Francis?”“You know better than that. You know I have much to thank you for: you have stood by me in days of suffering, and borne my troubles with me; you have been open, frank, and obliging with me; in a word, you have spoilt me, and I shall feel my loneliness doubled when you are gone.”“Not for long, though, for I will come back soon—with—with a trousseau!”“And, in the name of goodness, for whom?”“For whom, indeed, but my well-beloved cousin Francis Mordaunt!”“That’s a poor, very poor sort of jest, sir; you know very well that your cousin Mordaunt has no intentions of ever marrying.”“Listen to me, Francis! When we first met on the heath, and you told me your intentions on this point, I had no reasons for trying to dissuade you from them; but to-day, as you yourself know, the case is different. You will recollect the freedom with which I have pointed out to you any defects which I considered a blemish on your noble character. Doyou think I should have taken such a liberty if I had not conceived the idea, fostered the hope, of your one day consenting to become—my wife?”The word, the all-important word, was at last said.“Well, indeed, Leo,” she began with a profound sigh, “since you force me to speak seriously, I must remind you of my last warning, ‘not to use such language to me;’ it cannot, it may not be.”“And why not, Francis? Did I deceive myself when I thought I was not altogether indifferent to you?”She turned aside her face in silence, but I was sure I heard something like a suppressed sigh.“Is it possible you are not disengaged?” I inquired, taking her hand gently and placing myself before her so that I could look into her eyes.“Disengaged! Certainly I am disengaged,” she answered bitterly. “I have done my best to remain so; and I have all along told you I must be independent. It is necessary.”“Ah, I comprehend, Francis!” I exclaimed, carried away by an absurd jealousy; “you are still waiting for your Lord William.”“I?” she returned with passion; “I waiting forLord William, who never loved me, who caused me to commit a thousand follies, who broke my heart, and who must now be nearly sixty! No, Leopold; don’t humiliate me by pretending to be jealous of Lord William. Could I have told you the history of his stay with us if I still loved him?”“Is it then only a whim of Major Frank, who will surrender to no man, but prefers his savage kind of independence?”“Don’t torment me in this way, Leopold. You can break my heart, but you cannot overcome my objections.”“Then I will discover this mysterious power which enthrals you,” I cried, full of anger and pain.“You already know the duties I have to fulfil, Leopold. Why should you throw yourself into this abyss of misfortunes and miseries, in which I am sinking? and I shall never be able to get out of it my whole life.”“I wish to know your miseries, my dear Francis, to share them with you, and help you to bear them. We will overcome them together—be assured of that, my adored——”Passion was getting the mastery over me; I caughther in my arms and pressed her to my breast. She made no resistance, but, as if wearied with the struggle, she rested her head on my shoulder—her head so charming in its luxuriancy of golden curls. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were crimson. I thought myself in the seventh heaven.Suddenly a croaking voice broke the profound silence of the wood—“Don’t let me disturb you. Ah! Now Missy has a lover, it is not surprising she neglects the little boy.”Such were the words we heard close to us, uttered by a hoarse voice and in the coarsest of country dialects.

The General escaped for this time, but his recovery was slow. He was weak, and both his arms and legs seemed as if they were paralyzed. I allowed myself to be easily persuaded to prolong my stay at the Werve, and I was able to render Francis many little services. One of us two had to be constantly at the side of the convalescent, for Rolf had better intentions than judgment. He let the General have just what he asked for, and would soon have brought on a relapse if we had not watched them both. Francis was very thankful to have me with her; and yet she could not be satisfied that it was possible for me to spare so much time from all my business. She little suspected that my most pressing and agreeable occupation was to remain at her side and win her affections. Her devotion to her grandfather wassublime; she forgot all the wrongs he had done her, and only reproached herself for having caused him pain by her plain speaking. Notwithstanding, as the old man gradually grew better, she was soon again convinced that a certain amount of firmness was absolutely necessary to manage him. During his illness he had requested me, in his first lucid moments, to receive and open all his letters. And in this way I became aware that he was engaged in “risky” speculations, and that he was making debts unknown to Francis. When he was well enough to talk on such a subject, I ventured to remonstrate with him, and to point out the consequences of persisting in such a course, both for himself and for Francis. He promised me he would give up all such speculations, and excused the past on the grounds that he wished to leave Francis something when he died. I was to make the best conditions I could for him in the sale of the Werve. It was time. Overberg consented to wait; but Van Beek, the executor of the will, a man as inflexible as the law itself, had lost all patience. And I was not yet sure of Francis. Weakness on my part, you will say; but no, it was delicacy—it was the fear of having to cut short mystay. I was afraid of the obstinacy of Francis—that she would not consent to a marriage even though I might have won her heart. I was constantly calling to mind that terrible sentence she had uttered in the garden: “You will not use such language to me again.” I shuddered at the very idea that a new attempt on my part might draw from her lips a definite and decidedNo.

The old General had discovered my intentions—of that I was convinced. He was continually insisting upon a reconciliation with my uncle the minister, and that I should prepare Francis for the sale of the Werve. On this latter point, I assured him Francis would listen to reason, and, armed with his power of attorney, I went over to Zutphen to arrange the preliminaries with Overberg. Van Beek was growing less and less manageable; he had sent in reams of stamped paper to Overberg, and the interest on several of the mortgages was six months over due; in fact the situation of affairs had become desperate. I charged Overberg to write to Van Beek that the Werve would be sold, in all probability, at the same time as my marriage with Francis took place; and I thought this would be enough to keep the lawyersquiet for a few days longer. I brought back some little presents for the General and Rolf, who were both highly pleased; and a plain set of earrings and a brooch for Francis, as the time had not yet arrived when I could offer her the diamonds I intended for my bride.

On my return, to my great surprise, I found Francis sadder and more anxious than I had left her in the morning. She accepted my present, but seemed to be little interested in it. She retired early, and I followed her example, as I did not find Rolf’s company particularly interesting. Most of the night I spent in reflection and conjectures as to this change in Francis; for I had observed tears in her eyes when she bade me good-night. Once more I made up my mind that the coming day should put an end to all my doubts. At breakfast, Francis, less depressed than the night before, told us she had received a letter from Dr. D., of Utrecht, who gave her very encouraging news of the invalid in whom she was so much interested. I wished to propose to her a long walk in the wood; but when I came downstairs from my room, where I had gone after breakfast to make a change in my dress, I met Francis in the hall,arrayed in her riding-habit. This time she had put on an elegant hat and blue veil, and was waiting for her beautiful horse Tancredo, which the son of the farmer led up to the door saddled.

“Give up your ride this morning, to oblige me,” I said to her, with a certain tone of impatience in my voice that could not escape her.

She looked at me in surprise and silence as she played with her riding-whip.

“You can take your ride an hour later,” I insisted.

“I have a long ride before me, and I must be back before dinner.”

“Then put it off until to-morrow. This is the first opportunity we have had to take a long walk since your grandfather fell ill. Don’t refuse me this pleasure.”

“You always like to disarrange my plans, Leo.”

“To-day I have good reasons for doing so, Francis; believe me, to-morrow it will be too late.”

“Really? Your words sound threatening,” she said, attempting to smile. “Well, you shall have your way,” and she threw aside her riding-whip pettishly. “You’ll have to wait until I change my dress; I cannot walk in my riding-habit.”

Tancredo was sent back to the stable, and in much less time than I could have imagined my cousin reappeared in a very neat walking-costume.

“And where shall we go?” she asked.

“Well, into the wood, I suppose.”

“That’s right, the weather is splendid: we can walk as far as the round point, and rest there on the rustic bench which you perhaps remember.”

And so we walked through the great lane towards the wood, silent, just because we had so much to say to each other. I had resolved to speak; but I could not decide in my own mind how to begin the subject. She herself seemed to have a thousand other things to talk about beside the one I wished to come to. At length I tried to change the subject by saying it would be necessary for me to fix a day for my return to the Hague.

“I was expecting it, Leopold.”

“And are you sorry I am going away?”

“I ought to say ‘No,’ by way of opposition, which is the only suitable answer to such a foolish question.”

“But I—will come back, if you would like it.”

“No, Leopold, I should not like it. And I stillbelieve you would have done better to go away the day I first advised you to do so.”

“Have I been a burden to you, Francis?”

“You know better than that. You know I have much to thank you for: you have stood by me in days of suffering, and borne my troubles with me; you have been open, frank, and obliging with me; in a word, you have spoilt me, and I shall feel my loneliness doubled when you are gone.”

“Not for long, though, for I will come back soon—with—with a trousseau!”

“And, in the name of goodness, for whom?”

“For whom, indeed, but my well-beloved cousin Francis Mordaunt!”

“That’s a poor, very poor sort of jest, sir; you know very well that your cousin Mordaunt has no intentions of ever marrying.”

“Listen to me, Francis! When we first met on the heath, and you told me your intentions on this point, I had no reasons for trying to dissuade you from them; but to-day, as you yourself know, the case is different. You will recollect the freedom with which I have pointed out to you any defects which I considered a blemish on your noble character. Doyou think I should have taken such a liberty if I had not conceived the idea, fostered the hope, of your one day consenting to become—my wife?”

The word, the all-important word, was at last said.

“Well, indeed, Leo,” she began with a profound sigh, “since you force me to speak seriously, I must remind you of my last warning, ‘not to use such language to me;’ it cannot, it may not be.”

“And why not, Francis? Did I deceive myself when I thought I was not altogether indifferent to you?”

She turned aside her face in silence, but I was sure I heard something like a suppressed sigh.

“Is it possible you are not disengaged?” I inquired, taking her hand gently and placing myself before her so that I could look into her eyes.

“Disengaged! Certainly I am disengaged,” she answered bitterly. “I have done my best to remain so; and I have all along told you I must be independent. It is necessary.”

“Ah, I comprehend, Francis!” I exclaimed, carried away by an absurd jealousy; “you are still waiting for your Lord William.”

“I?” she returned with passion; “I waiting forLord William, who never loved me, who caused me to commit a thousand follies, who broke my heart, and who must now be nearly sixty! No, Leopold; don’t humiliate me by pretending to be jealous of Lord William. Could I have told you the history of his stay with us if I still loved him?”

“Is it then only a whim of Major Frank, who will surrender to no man, but prefers his savage kind of independence?”

“Don’t torment me in this way, Leopold. You can break my heart, but you cannot overcome my objections.”

“Then I will discover this mysterious power which enthrals you,” I cried, full of anger and pain.

“You already know the duties I have to fulfil, Leopold. Why should you throw yourself into this abyss of misfortunes and miseries, in which I am sinking? and I shall never be able to get out of it my whole life.”

“I wish to know your miseries, my dear Francis, to share them with you, and help you to bear them. We will overcome them together—be assured of that, my adored——”

Passion was getting the mastery over me; I caughther in my arms and pressed her to my breast. She made no resistance, but, as if wearied with the struggle, she rested her head on my shoulder—her head so charming in its luxuriancy of golden curls. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were crimson. I thought myself in the seventh heaven.

Suddenly a croaking voice broke the profound silence of the wood—

“Don’t let me disturb you. Ah! Now Missy has a lover, it is not surprising she neglects the little boy.”

Such were the words we heard close to us, uttered by a hoarse voice and in the coarsest of country dialects.

Chapter XXXI.Francis, pale with terror, disengaged herself from my embrace, and stepped forward a few paces. As for myself, I stood as if thunder-struck.The person who had spoken these offensive words, and who had doubtless been watching our movements for some time, was an old peasant woman bearing a strong resemblance to the witches in Macbeth. Her sharp black eyes, bare skinny arms, as red and dry as a boiled crab, her face wrinkled and tanned, her blue checked handkerchief tied over her white cap, and the stick on which she supported herself, all contributed to call up before my mind one of those creatures our ancestors would have burned alive. I confess I wished her such a fate when she advanced towards Francis and said, with her ingrained impertinence—“Now, miss—now I see what you have been so busy about the last five weeks, that you have never once had time to come and see the child.”“My grandfather has been ill, Mrs. Jool.”“Yes, rich people’s sickness—there’s no great danger; but the young gent there, that’s another thing, eh? I tell you all the village is talking about it.”“About what, Mrs. Jool?” asked Francis, indignantly.“Your neglecting the child for——”“Listen to me, Mrs. Jool,” interrupted Francis, in a calm and firm tone: “neither you nor the village have any right to interfere with my business.”“Hum! the month is up, and a week gone in the second, and when Trineke1is not paid the boy suffers for it.”“You shall be paid to-morrow; but I warn you if the child suffer on account of a week’s delay in payment, either at your hands or your daughter’s, I will take him away from you. To-morrow, or the day after, I shall come to see him myself, and I shall make inquiries of the neighbours.”“What! You would disgrace me and my daughter by taking him away? You try it! we shall then see who is the strongest.”And the insolent, vulgar woman set her arms akimbo, as she whined out—“This is what one gets for defending great folks.”“It has cost you no sacrifices, Mrs. Jool; for you have simply tried to make money out of your daughter’s misfortune.”“And he must have shoes and socks, or else he will have to run about bare-legged in clogs like a peasant’s child.”“I will provide them, Mrs. Jool; and now I have heard enough. This is the path which leads to the village.”“What a hurry you’re in!”“These are private grounds; do you understand that? Now take yourself off, or——”“Marry come up! how anxious you are to get rid of me. Well, well, I am going. Otherwise I am afraid this dandy will play the policeman for her.” And so she limped off along the path indicated, mumbling all the way.Francis then turned to me and said—“Well, Leopold, this incident will serve to enlighten you; behold a power opposed to my freedom and happiness.”“I understand,” I answered, trying to assume a calmness I did not possess; “I understand, Francis—you are too honest to bind any man to you for life, saddled as you are with such a burden. But why did you not confide this terrible secret to me sooner? I will attempt the impossible to save you!”“But, Leopold, what are you thinking of?” she responded, quite red with emotion; “you surely do not suspect me of anything unworthy? You comprehend that my honour is not herein concerned, though I must suffer for the deplorable consequences of the fault I committed.”“I am listening, Francis; but, excuse me, I do not rightly understand you. Is this not a question of a child which you are obliged to maintain?”“Yes, certainly; and that’s not the heaviest part of the burden. I have also to maintain the mother.”“Francis!” I exclaimed, in a transport of joy and relief.“Now it is my turn to say I don’t understand you,” she rejoined, regarding me with an adorable simplicity.“Do you think it a light charge for me, in my position, to bring up a child, and provide for its mother whom I have sent to a private asylum?”I thanked Heaven from the bottom of my heart that she, in her innocency, did not suspect the conclusions I had drawn from the words and manner of the old witch.“This is the fatal consequence of my rash obstinacy with poor Harry Blount,” she continued. “You have heard me speak of the accident before. He was carried in a dying state into the cottage of this Mrs. Jool and her daughter. In my despair, I repeated several times: ‘It is my fault; I have killed him, I have killed him.’ The daughter knelt beside Blount in the wildest agony; and Harry could just murmur, ‘My wife, my poor wife; have pity on her, Miss Francis!’ I did not know until this moment that they were secretly married. I promised solemnly I would care for her, and even if I had made no promise I should still have done all I have done for her.“The mother always was, and is, a bad woman; she had, as it were, thrown her daughter into the arms of Blount, whom she considered a good match.After the funeral, she made such good use of my words uttered in despair, and spread such nefarious reports in the village, that I was accused in all earnest of being his murderer. In fact, we were obliged to consult the magistrate, a friend of ours, as to the measures we ought to take to contradict and put a stop to such slanderous charges. This, of course, did not relieve me of my obligations towards the daughter, in whom, very soon after the birth of her child, symptoms of insanity manifested themselves. The child had to be taken from her, and it was given in care to a sister of hers in the neighbouring village, who had just lost her youngest born. Perhaps you would imagine she took it out of sisterly charity; but no, she insisted upon my paying her monthly wages as I should have to do any other wet nurse. Besides, I had to do what I could for the poor mother. It was most fortunate for me that on the occasion of my visit to Utrecht I met with Aunt Roselaer, otherwise I could not have afforded the expense the mother has cost under the care of Dr. D. Mrs. Jool, not caring to live alone, went to the house of her married daughter under the pretext of watching over the little one; but the fact is, she would there havea better opportunity of extorting money from me, and this she does under all kinds of pretences. The child has long been weaned, and ought not to be left in their charge. I am always threatening to take it away from them, but I have not yet done so; for, to confess a truth, I have recoiled from the rumours and false charges such a change would give rise to. The mother and child are now costing me the greater part of my income. My grandfather finds fault with me about it, for he regards it as so much money thrown away. Now, Leopold, do you think I could draw a man I really loved into such a maëlstrom as this?”“The man worthy to possess you, Francis, will not be drawn in, but will aid you in getting out of it.”“It is impossible; I will never abandon this child of Harry Blount’s.”“I would never advise you to do anything of the sort. I know the way to treat such people as Mrs. Jool. The child must be taken away from her and brought up by respectable farmers; perhaps the Pauwelsens would take him. To-morrow I will go with you to the village——”“You will only stir a wasps’ nest about your ears.”“Oh, never mind; I am not afraid of a sting.”“It’s bad enough that this woman has been playing the spy on us to-day.”“When she sees us together to-morrow she will understand that it is useless playing the spy on us any longer.”“But then she will make us the talk of the country-side. You don’t know the wickedness that woman’s capable of.”“Well, what can she say more than that we are an engaged couple? And is this not true, Francis?” I said, gently taking her hand in mine.“You come back to the subject again, even now you know all,” she murmured; “but you have not calculated all the troubles and burdens which would fall upon you: Rolf, whom we could not send away from the Werve; my grandfather with his large wants—and small income. Oh yes, I know you are going back to the Hague to reconcile yourself with your uncle the minister, as the General has advised you to do; and I understand why. But don’t do so for my sake, Leopold, for you have yourself said it would demean you.”“Reassure yourself on that point, Francis; I may forgive my uncle and seek to be reconciled to him, as my religion bids me; but never for the sake of his favours. But why so many difficulties? Don’t you see I love you, Francis; that during the last few days I have been at some pains to suppress my feelings, and have therein succeeded better than I gave myself credit for; that, now I have told you all, we must either part for ever, or I must have the assurance you will accept me as your husband? I desire it, Francis; I desire it with a firmness of will that despises all objections and will remove all difficulties.”“Leopold,” she replied, “don’t talk to me like this. No one ever spoke to me as you have done—you make me beside myself. And yet I ought to resist. I don’t wish to be an obstacle in the way of your happiness, whatever it may cost me.”I took both her hands in mine. “Francis,” I said, “I love you!” This was my only answer.“You persist? Can it be? May I still be happy!”“Enough, Francis; you are mine! I will never forsake you; you are mine for life!”“For life!” she repeated after me, becoming so pale that I was afraid she would faint. “Leopold, yes, I am yours; I put my trust in you, and I love you as I have never loved before—never before,” she whispered quite low.“At last!” I cried; and pressed the first kiss of love on her lips.I need not tell you we came in too late for luncheon. It is true we were not hungry. We returned to the house slowly, and almost in silence, and we even slackened our pace as we drew nearer the Castle. Francis, especially, seemed loath to enter.“Let us rest on the moss at the foot of this large oak tree,” she said; “it seems to me that all my misfortunes will come back to me as soon as I enter yonder. I cannot yet separate myself from my happiness. Oh, Leopold! I wish we could fly away together, that no one might interpose between us two.”“We will fly away, dearest; but first we must go through certain formalities which will give us the right to appear in the world as man and wife, and lift up our heads with the best of them.”“And then will follow the breakfast, the visits, and the congratulations of mean and false people, who come with a hypocritical smile to wish us joy, whilst behind our backs they will make a mock of the man who has dared to marry Major Frank!”“Oh, what a supposition!” I replied; “you must pay for that,” kissing her sad face into cheerfulness.“I don’t understand,” she continued, “how people can treat so serious a subject as marriage with such lightness. The woman especially makes an immense sacrifice—her name, her will, her individual self; a sacrifice which I always considered it would be impossible for me to make, until I met you.”“And now?” I asked, kneeling before her on the moss, the better to see into her beautiful eyes, which sparkled with happiness and tenderness.“Now I have no longer so many objections,” she replied with her sweetest smile. “But do not remain in that position before me, Leopold. It is only acting a lie, for I foresee you will be my lord and master. But let us now go in, my dear, otherwise they will be alarmed about us at the Castle. They won’t know what to think of our long absence.”“Just let me say, Francis, it must be with us as Tennyson puts it—“Sit side by side, full summed in all their powers,———Self-reverent each, and reverencing each:Distinct in individualities,But like each other even as those who love.”“Exactly my opinion!” she exclaimed, applauding the sentiment.1Trineke is a diminutive of Catherine.

Francis, pale with terror, disengaged herself from my embrace, and stepped forward a few paces. As for myself, I stood as if thunder-struck.

The person who had spoken these offensive words, and who had doubtless been watching our movements for some time, was an old peasant woman bearing a strong resemblance to the witches in Macbeth. Her sharp black eyes, bare skinny arms, as red and dry as a boiled crab, her face wrinkled and tanned, her blue checked handkerchief tied over her white cap, and the stick on which she supported herself, all contributed to call up before my mind one of those creatures our ancestors would have burned alive. I confess I wished her such a fate when she advanced towards Francis and said, with her ingrained impertinence—

“Now, miss—now I see what you have been so busy about the last five weeks, that you have never once had time to come and see the child.”

“My grandfather has been ill, Mrs. Jool.”

“Yes, rich people’s sickness—there’s no great danger; but the young gent there, that’s another thing, eh? I tell you all the village is talking about it.”

“About what, Mrs. Jool?” asked Francis, indignantly.

“Your neglecting the child for——”

“Listen to me, Mrs. Jool,” interrupted Francis, in a calm and firm tone: “neither you nor the village have any right to interfere with my business.”

“Hum! the month is up, and a week gone in the second, and when Trineke1is not paid the boy suffers for it.”

“You shall be paid to-morrow; but I warn you if the child suffer on account of a week’s delay in payment, either at your hands or your daughter’s, I will take him away from you. To-morrow, or the day after, I shall come to see him myself, and I shall make inquiries of the neighbours.”

“What! You would disgrace me and my daughter by taking him away? You try it! we shall then see who is the strongest.”

And the insolent, vulgar woman set her arms akimbo, as she whined out—

“This is what one gets for defending great folks.”

“It has cost you no sacrifices, Mrs. Jool; for you have simply tried to make money out of your daughter’s misfortune.”

“And he must have shoes and socks, or else he will have to run about bare-legged in clogs like a peasant’s child.”

“I will provide them, Mrs. Jool; and now I have heard enough. This is the path which leads to the village.”

“What a hurry you’re in!”

“These are private grounds; do you understand that? Now take yourself off, or——”

“Marry come up! how anxious you are to get rid of me. Well, well, I am going. Otherwise I am afraid this dandy will play the policeman for her.” And so she limped off along the path indicated, mumbling all the way.

Francis then turned to me and said—

“Well, Leopold, this incident will serve to enlighten you; behold a power opposed to my freedom and happiness.”

“I understand,” I answered, trying to assume a calmness I did not possess; “I understand, Francis—you are too honest to bind any man to you for life, saddled as you are with such a burden. But why did you not confide this terrible secret to me sooner? I will attempt the impossible to save you!”

“But, Leopold, what are you thinking of?” she responded, quite red with emotion; “you surely do not suspect me of anything unworthy? You comprehend that my honour is not herein concerned, though I must suffer for the deplorable consequences of the fault I committed.”

“I am listening, Francis; but, excuse me, I do not rightly understand you. Is this not a question of a child which you are obliged to maintain?”

“Yes, certainly; and that’s not the heaviest part of the burden. I have also to maintain the mother.”

“Francis!” I exclaimed, in a transport of joy and relief.

“Now it is my turn to say I don’t understand you,” she rejoined, regarding me with an adorable simplicity.“Do you think it a light charge for me, in my position, to bring up a child, and provide for its mother whom I have sent to a private asylum?”

I thanked Heaven from the bottom of my heart that she, in her innocency, did not suspect the conclusions I had drawn from the words and manner of the old witch.

“This is the fatal consequence of my rash obstinacy with poor Harry Blount,” she continued. “You have heard me speak of the accident before. He was carried in a dying state into the cottage of this Mrs. Jool and her daughter. In my despair, I repeated several times: ‘It is my fault; I have killed him, I have killed him.’ The daughter knelt beside Blount in the wildest agony; and Harry could just murmur, ‘My wife, my poor wife; have pity on her, Miss Francis!’ I did not know until this moment that they were secretly married. I promised solemnly I would care for her, and even if I had made no promise I should still have done all I have done for her.

“The mother always was, and is, a bad woman; she had, as it were, thrown her daughter into the arms of Blount, whom she considered a good match.After the funeral, she made such good use of my words uttered in despair, and spread such nefarious reports in the village, that I was accused in all earnest of being his murderer. In fact, we were obliged to consult the magistrate, a friend of ours, as to the measures we ought to take to contradict and put a stop to such slanderous charges. This, of course, did not relieve me of my obligations towards the daughter, in whom, very soon after the birth of her child, symptoms of insanity manifested themselves. The child had to be taken from her, and it was given in care to a sister of hers in the neighbouring village, who had just lost her youngest born. Perhaps you would imagine she took it out of sisterly charity; but no, she insisted upon my paying her monthly wages as I should have to do any other wet nurse. Besides, I had to do what I could for the poor mother. It was most fortunate for me that on the occasion of my visit to Utrecht I met with Aunt Roselaer, otherwise I could not have afforded the expense the mother has cost under the care of Dr. D. Mrs. Jool, not caring to live alone, went to the house of her married daughter under the pretext of watching over the little one; but the fact is, she would there havea better opportunity of extorting money from me, and this she does under all kinds of pretences. The child has long been weaned, and ought not to be left in their charge. I am always threatening to take it away from them, but I have not yet done so; for, to confess a truth, I have recoiled from the rumours and false charges such a change would give rise to. The mother and child are now costing me the greater part of my income. My grandfather finds fault with me about it, for he regards it as so much money thrown away. Now, Leopold, do you think I could draw a man I really loved into such a maëlstrom as this?”

“The man worthy to possess you, Francis, will not be drawn in, but will aid you in getting out of it.”

“It is impossible; I will never abandon this child of Harry Blount’s.”

“I would never advise you to do anything of the sort. I know the way to treat such people as Mrs. Jool. The child must be taken away from her and brought up by respectable farmers; perhaps the Pauwelsens would take him. To-morrow I will go with you to the village——”

“You will only stir a wasps’ nest about your ears.”

“Oh, never mind; I am not afraid of a sting.”

“It’s bad enough that this woman has been playing the spy on us to-day.”

“When she sees us together to-morrow she will understand that it is useless playing the spy on us any longer.”

“But then she will make us the talk of the country-side. You don’t know the wickedness that woman’s capable of.”

“Well, what can she say more than that we are an engaged couple? And is this not true, Francis?” I said, gently taking her hand in mine.

“You come back to the subject again, even now you know all,” she murmured; “but you have not calculated all the troubles and burdens which would fall upon you: Rolf, whom we could not send away from the Werve; my grandfather with his large wants—and small income. Oh yes, I know you are going back to the Hague to reconcile yourself with your uncle the minister, as the General has advised you to do; and I understand why. But don’t do so for my sake, Leopold, for you have yourself said it would demean you.”

“Reassure yourself on that point, Francis; I may forgive my uncle and seek to be reconciled to him, as my religion bids me; but never for the sake of his favours. But why so many difficulties? Don’t you see I love you, Francis; that during the last few days I have been at some pains to suppress my feelings, and have therein succeeded better than I gave myself credit for; that, now I have told you all, we must either part for ever, or I must have the assurance you will accept me as your husband? I desire it, Francis; I desire it with a firmness of will that despises all objections and will remove all difficulties.”

“Leopold,” she replied, “don’t talk to me like this. No one ever spoke to me as you have done—you make me beside myself. And yet I ought to resist. I don’t wish to be an obstacle in the way of your happiness, whatever it may cost me.”

I took both her hands in mine. “Francis,” I said, “I love you!” This was my only answer.

“You persist? Can it be? May I still be happy!”

“Enough, Francis; you are mine! I will never forsake you; you are mine for life!”

“For life!” she repeated after me, becoming so pale that I was afraid she would faint. “Leopold, yes, I am yours; I put my trust in you, and I love you as I have never loved before—never before,” she whispered quite low.

“At last!” I cried; and pressed the first kiss of love on her lips.

I need not tell you we came in too late for luncheon. It is true we were not hungry. We returned to the house slowly, and almost in silence, and we even slackened our pace as we drew nearer the Castle. Francis, especially, seemed loath to enter.

“Let us rest on the moss at the foot of this large oak tree,” she said; “it seems to me that all my misfortunes will come back to me as soon as I enter yonder. I cannot yet separate myself from my happiness. Oh, Leopold! I wish we could fly away together, that no one might interpose between us two.”

“We will fly away, dearest; but first we must go through certain formalities which will give us the right to appear in the world as man and wife, and lift up our heads with the best of them.”

“And then will follow the breakfast, the visits, and the congratulations of mean and false people, who come with a hypocritical smile to wish us joy, whilst behind our backs they will make a mock of the man who has dared to marry Major Frank!”

“Oh, what a supposition!” I replied; “you must pay for that,” kissing her sad face into cheerfulness.

“I don’t understand,” she continued, “how people can treat so serious a subject as marriage with such lightness. The woman especially makes an immense sacrifice—her name, her will, her individual self; a sacrifice which I always considered it would be impossible for me to make, until I met you.”

“And now?” I asked, kneeling before her on the moss, the better to see into her beautiful eyes, which sparkled with happiness and tenderness.

“Now I have no longer so many objections,” she replied with her sweetest smile. “But do not remain in that position before me, Leopold. It is only acting a lie, for I foresee you will be my lord and master. But let us now go in, my dear, otherwise they will be alarmed about us at the Castle. They won’t know what to think of our long absence.”

“Just let me say, Francis, it must be with us as Tennyson puts it—

“Sit side by side, full summed in all their powers,———Self-reverent each, and reverencing each:Distinct in individualities,But like each other even as those who love.”

“Sit side by side, full summed in all their powers,

———

Self-reverent each, and reverencing each:

Distinct in individualities,

But like each other even as those who love.”

“Exactly my opinion!” she exclaimed, applauding the sentiment.

1Trineke is a diminutive of Catherine.

1Trineke is a diminutive of Catherine.

Chapter XXXII.It was just as well we went in, for we met Rolf and Fritz, who had been sent out in search of us, as the General, though in a good humour, was most impatient to speak to us. When we entered his room he was arranging his papers, and did not give us time to announce our engagement, as we intended.“Francis,” he cried, “why did you stay out so long when I have such good news to tell you?”“That’s just what I have to tell you, grandfather; but what can have pleased you so much? You have not been made heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property, have you?”“It comes almost to the same thing, my child. Know then that the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property asks your hand in marriage. It is one of the conditionsof the will; and I believe he will be agreeable to you.”I smiled, though I found that Overberg and Van Beek had been in too great a hurry to inform the old Baron of the real state of affairs. I had wished to be the first to break this agreeable surprise to Francis.She stepped forward towards the General, and in a firm voice she said—“I am sorry, grandfather, to disappoint you. The gentleman comes too late, for I have just promised my hand and heart to my cousin, Leopold van Zonshoven—and that is the good news I came to tell you.”“But that’s all the better, dear child—all the better; for the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property and your cousin Leopold van Zonshoven are one and the same person; and on the condition that you should marry the heir.”Francis, turning on me brusquely, cried, “It is not true, Leopold? Oh, say it is not true!” she exclaimed, violently agitated.“Then I should not speak the truth,” I answered. “The only difference for you,” I continued, “is this: you thought you were giving your heart to a ‘poorgentleman,’ and now, like a prince in the fairy tales, he turns out to be a millionaire. Can such a surprise be disagreeable to you?”“Not a disagreeable surprise to me”—she almost shrieked, with scintillating eyes and flushed cheeks—“to find you have put on a mask to deceive me! Have you not succeeded in inspiring me with esteem for you by your proud and dignified behaviour, and the elevated sentiments you professed? And do you think I can be happy to find that all this was but a comedy? Could a gentleman have treated me so? But you have deceived yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven. I gave my heart to a young man without fortune, whose upright and noble character I admired, and in whom I had more confidence than in myself; but for the intriguer, who, to seize upon my aunt’s fortune and make sure of it, has put on a disguise to win the heart of the woman he was ordered to marry, for this hypocrite, this pretended sage, I have nothing but—my contempt!”“Be careful, Francis; I know your violent temper often causes you to say that which in cooler moments you regret; but don’t insult in such a manner the man you have just accepted as your husband—a manwhom no one ever dared to address in such language, neither will he meekly bear it from any living being.”“Need I make any respectful apologies, or do I owe any excuses to you, who have deceived me, lied to me, who have introduced yourself here like a spy, and carried on your mean and degrading speculations up to the very moment when you thought it impossible for me to retract my word? Once more, sir, I tell you, you are mistaken in my character. I will never pardon a man who has abused my confidence!”“I have not abused your confidence, Francis,” I answered, in as calm and gentle a tone as I could; “I have only been studying your character, and trying to gain your affections, before I would venture an avowal of my sentiments—that is all I have done.”“You have been false, I tell you. How can I any longer believe in your love? You came here to make what is called a good stroke of business, to gain your million. It is true, I loved you such as you were not as you now appear in my eyes. I will not be disposed of in marriage by any person dead or alive;and as for you, I refuse your offer. Do youunderstandme? I refuse you!”Upon this she fell back in an armchair, pale as death.I was myself obliged to lean on the back of a chair, for I felt my legs trembling under me. Rolf, tender-hearted as ever, had withdrawn to a corner of the room with tears in his eyes. The General, with agony depicted on his face, sat in his chair wringing his hands, and seemed unable to move from the spot.“Francis, Francis,” he said, “don’t let your temper overmaster you in this way. Reflect that the Castle is mortgaged to the last stone, and that the last six months’ interest is not yet paid. If sold to-morrow it will not fetch a third of the amount for which I have mortgaged it, and it is only by the generosity of Jonker Leopold that the sale can any longer be delayed. He has offered to take it off my hands, together with all the mortgages with which it is burdened, and to allow me a yearly income which will make me comfortable for life; but you must marry him, otherwise all our plans come to nought. Understand that, and don’t insult a man who has such generous intentions towards us. He is stillwilling to forgive you, if you don’t persevere in your senseless refusal, I am sure; for I have for some time already been aware he loves you. And we have not to deal with him alone; there is a will made, and executors and lawyers appointed to see its provisions carried out. Now what shall I write to Overberg?”“Write, grandfather,” said Francis, rousing herself with an effort, “that Francis Mordaunt will not suffer herself to be disposed of in marriage by anybody’s testamentary disposition; that she will neither sell herself for one million nor for two millions, and that she has decidedly refused Jonker van Zonshoven’s offer of marriage.”Feeling confident Francis would do me justice when more calm and resigned, but feeling also the necessity of not giving way to violence in dealing with a character such as hers, I said—“I who have your promise and will not release you from it, I request the General to write to Overberg that Miss Mordaunt has accepted my offer, and that the transfer of the Castle de Werve can forthwith be concluded.”“If I will consent to the sale,” interposed Francis, still pale and unmoved.“I beg your pardon, Miss Mordaunt,” I rejoined, “your grandfather is the sole owner of the Castle; and during his life the will by which it is bequeathed to you has no force nor value.”“Ah! if she could only be brought to see all the circumstances in their true light,” sighed Von Zwenken.“Well, uncle, you write what I have requested you to write; you know only too well the consequences of any other decision.”“He wants you to write lies!” cried Francis, exasperatingly; “he’ll stick to his million, that’s clear.”“Francis,” said the General, with the tone of a supplicant, “if you knew all I know! You are insulting a man who is generosity itself, who has power to ruin us all, and yet who seeks to save us if you will simply take the hand he holds out to you. Remember he can force us to sell the Castle if we do not consent to hand it over to him, however much against our own will.”“It is possible that he has secretly acquired the power to drive us out of the Werve like beggars, but he cannot compel me to marry him.”“We shall see about that,” I rejoined, proudly.“You dare to talk to me of constraint—to me!” she cried, becoming furious, and advancing towards me—“you, Leopold,” she added, with an accent of real pain.“Yes, Francis,” I answered, resolved to follow up my advantage, “you shall submit to the constraint of your own conscience, which must tell you that you owe me an apology. I am going away. Farewell. Try to reflect on this in your calmer moments. You have touched me to the quick; you have wounded my feelings of honour and my heart. Do not let me wait too long, or the wound will become incurable.”I gave her a last look of gentle reproach, but her glassy eyes seemed insensible to all around her. I shook hands with the old Baron, who, with bowed head, was weeping like a child. Rolf followed me to my room, and besought me not to leave the Castle in such haste.“She is like this,” he said, “when anything goes wrong with her. Within an hour she will regret what she has said, I am sure; the storm was too violent to last long.”But my mind was made up. I packed up my luggage, slowly, I must confess, and always listening for a well-known step and a knock, which should announce Francis repentant and seeking a reconciliation. But she did not come.I was miserable beyond all expression. It was like being shipwrecked in the harbour after a long voyage. To think this was the same woman at whose feet I had kneeled an hour ago, and whose hand I had kissed in a delirium of pleasure. And now she had turned upon me like a fury and declined my offer with contempt! I reflected that I ought to have acted more frankly and straightforwardly with her. For a moment the idea occurred to me to renounce all my rights as to Aunt Sophia’s property; but, after all, what good end could it serve—it would only reduce us both to poverty. I promised myself that, once arrived at Zutphen, I would send her in writing a complete statement of how affairs stood, and enclose aunt’s letter, which, out of delicacy, I had so far kept to myself. I would add a few words of explanation, and I doubted not that, in her calmer moments, she would do me justice.And thus I acted; but as all the documents togethermade up too large a packet for the post, I confided them to a waiter at the hotel, who was to hand them over to a carrier calling every day at the Werve for orders. I flattered myself I should speedily receive an answer, and all the following day I passed in a feverish excitement, only increased in the evening when no answer came. During the night I never slept a moment. Another day passed, and still no answer; and now I gave myself up to the most complete despair. There was nothing for me to do but settle my affairs in all haste at Zutphen and return to the Hague.I kept Overberg in the dark about my rupture with Francis, only telling him pressing business called me back to the Hague. I signed all the papers he put before me, and told him I would return as soon as possible. The fact was I felt seriously unwell, and, as you know, home is the best place under such circumstances; I thought I could there immerse myself in my favourite studies, but I only remember feeling an unbearable weight of oppression come over me.

It was just as well we went in, for we met Rolf and Fritz, who had been sent out in search of us, as the General, though in a good humour, was most impatient to speak to us. When we entered his room he was arranging his papers, and did not give us time to announce our engagement, as we intended.

“Francis,” he cried, “why did you stay out so long when I have such good news to tell you?”

“That’s just what I have to tell you, grandfather; but what can have pleased you so much? You have not been made heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property, have you?”

“It comes almost to the same thing, my child. Know then that the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property asks your hand in marriage. It is one of the conditionsof the will; and I believe he will be agreeable to you.”

I smiled, though I found that Overberg and Van Beek had been in too great a hurry to inform the old Baron of the real state of affairs. I had wished to be the first to break this agreeable surprise to Francis.

She stepped forward towards the General, and in a firm voice she said—

“I am sorry, grandfather, to disappoint you. The gentleman comes too late, for I have just promised my hand and heart to my cousin, Leopold van Zonshoven—and that is the good news I came to tell you.”

“But that’s all the better, dear child—all the better; for the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property and your cousin Leopold van Zonshoven are one and the same person; and on the condition that you should marry the heir.”

Francis, turning on me brusquely, cried, “It is not true, Leopold? Oh, say it is not true!” she exclaimed, violently agitated.

“Then I should not speak the truth,” I answered. “The only difference for you,” I continued, “is this: you thought you were giving your heart to a ‘poorgentleman,’ and now, like a prince in the fairy tales, he turns out to be a millionaire. Can such a surprise be disagreeable to you?”

“Not a disagreeable surprise to me”—she almost shrieked, with scintillating eyes and flushed cheeks—“to find you have put on a mask to deceive me! Have you not succeeded in inspiring me with esteem for you by your proud and dignified behaviour, and the elevated sentiments you professed? And do you think I can be happy to find that all this was but a comedy? Could a gentleman have treated me so? But you have deceived yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven. I gave my heart to a young man without fortune, whose upright and noble character I admired, and in whom I had more confidence than in myself; but for the intriguer, who, to seize upon my aunt’s fortune and make sure of it, has put on a disguise to win the heart of the woman he was ordered to marry, for this hypocrite, this pretended sage, I have nothing but—my contempt!”

“Be careful, Francis; I know your violent temper often causes you to say that which in cooler moments you regret; but don’t insult in such a manner the man you have just accepted as your husband—a manwhom no one ever dared to address in such language, neither will he meekly bear it from any living being.”

“Need I make any respectful apologies, or do I owe any excuses to you, who have deceived me, lied to me, who have introduced yourself here like a spy, and carried on your mean and degrading speculations up to the very moment when you thought it impossible for me to retract my word? Once more, sir, I tell you, you are mistaken in my character. I will never pardon a man who has abused my confidence!”

“I have not abused your confidence, Francis,” I answered, in as calm and gentle a tone as I could; “I have only been studying your character, and trying to gain your affections, before I would venture an avowal of my sentiments—that is all I have done.”

“You have been false, I tell you. How can I any longer believe in your love? You came here to make what is called a good stroke of business, to gain your million. It is true, I loved you such as you were not as you now appear in my eyes. I will not be disposed of in marriage by any person dead or alive;and as for you, I refuse your offer. Do youunderstandme? I refuse you!”

Upon this she fell back in an armchair, pale as death.

I was myself obliged to lean on the back of a chair, for I felt my legs trembling under me. Rolf, tender-hearted as ever, had withdrawn to a corner of the room with tears in his eyes. The General, with agony depicted on his face, sat in his chair wringing his hands, and seemed unable to move from the spot.

“Francis, Francis,” he said, “don’t let your temper overmaster you in this way. Reflect that the Castle is mortgaged to the last stone, and that the last six months’ interest is not yet paid. If sold to-morrow it will not fetch a third of the amount for which I have mortgaged it, and it is only by the generosity of Jonker Leopold that the sale can any longer be delayed. He has offered to take it off my hands, together with all the mortgages with which it is burdened, and to allow me a yearly income which will make me comfortable for life; but you must marry him, otherwise all our plans come to nought. Understand that, and don’t insult a man who has such generous intentions towards us. He is stillwilling to forgive you, if you don’t persevere in your senseless refusal, I am sure; for I have for some time already been aware he loves you. And we have not to deal with him alone; there is a will made, and executors and lawyers appointed to see its provisions carried out. Now what shall I write to Overberg?”

“Write, grandfather,” said Francis, rousing herself with an effort, “that Francis Mordaunt will not suffer herself to be disposed of in marriage by anybody’s testamentary disposition; that she will neither sell herself for one million nor for two millions, and that she has decidedly refused Jonker van Zonshoven’s offer of marriage.”

Feeling confident Francis would do me justice when more calm and resigned, but feeling also the necessity of not giving way to violence in dealing with a character such as hers, I said—

“I who have your promise and will not release you from it, I request the General to write to Overberg that Miss Mordaunt has accepted my offer, and that the transfer of the Castle de Werve can forthwith be concluded.”

“If I will consent to the sale,” interposed Francis, still pale and unmoved.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Mordaunt,” I rejoined, “your grandfather is the sole owner of the Castle; and during his life the will by which it is bequeathed to you has no force nor value.”

“Ah! if she could only be brought to see all the circumstances in their true light,” sighed Von Zwenken.

“Well, uncle, you write what I have requested you to write; you know only too well the consequences of any other decision.”

“He wants you to write lies!” cried Francis, exasperatingly; “he’ll stick to his million, that’s clear.”

“Francis,” said the General, with the tone of a supplicant, “if you knew all I know! You are insulting a man who is generosity itself, who has power to ruin us all, and yet who seeks to save us if you will simply take the hand he holds out to you. Remember he can force us to sell the Castle if we do not consent to hand it over to him, however much against our own will.”

“It is possible that he has secretly acquired the power to drive us out of the Werve like beggars, but he cannot compel me to marry him.”

“We shall see about that,” I rejoined, proudly.

“You dare to talk to me of constraint—to me!” she cried, becoming furious, and advancing towards me—“you, Leopold,” she added, with an accent of real pain.

“Yes, Francis,” I answered, resolved to follow up my advantage, “you shall submit to the constraint of your own conscience, which must tell you that you owe me an apology. I am going away. Farewell. Try to reflect on this in your calmer moments. You have touched me to the quick; you have wounded my feelings of honour and my heart. Do not let me wait too long, or the wound will become incurable.”

I gave her a last look of gentle reproach, but her glassy eyes seemed insensible to all around her. I shook hands with the old Baron, who, with bowed head, was weeping like a child. Rolf followed me to my room, and besought me not to leave the Castle in such haste.

“She is like this,” he said, “when anything goes wrong with her. Within an hour she will regret what she has said, I am sure; the storm was too violent to last long.”

But my mind was made up. I packed up my luggage, slowly, I must confess, and always listening for a well-known step and a knock, which should announce Francis repentant and seeking a reconciliation. But she did not come.

I was miserable beyond all expression. It was like being shipwrecked in the harbour after a long voyage. To think this was the same woman at whose feet I had kneeled an hour ago, and whose hand I had kissed in a delirium of pleasure. And now she had turned upon me like a fury and declined my offer with contempt! I reflected that I ought to have acted more frankly and straightforwardly with her. For a moment the idea occurred to me to renounce all my rights as to Aunt Sophia’s property; but, after all, what good end could it serve—it would only reduce us both to poverty. I promised myself that, once arrived at Zutphen, I would send her in writing a complete statement of how affairs stood, and enclose aunt’s letter, which, out of delicacy, I had so far kept to myself. I would add a few words of explanation, and I doubted not that, in her calmer moments, she would do me justice.

And thus I acted; but as all the documents togethermade up too large a packet for the post, I confided them to a waiter at the hotel, who was to hand them over to a carrier calling every day at the Werve for orders. I flattered myself I should speedily receive an answer, and all the following day I passed in a feverish excitement, only increased in the evening when no answer came. During the night I never slept a moment. Another day passed, and still no answer; and now I gave myself up to the most complete despair. There was nothing for me to do but settle my affairs in all haste at Zutphen and return to the Hague.

I kept Overberg in the dark about my rupture with Francis, only telling him pressing business called me back to the Hague. I signed all the papers he put before me, and told him I would return as soon as possible. The fact was I felt seriously unwell, and, as you know, home is the best place under such circumstances; I thought I could there immerse myself in my favourite studies, but I only remember feeling an unbearable weight of oppression come over me.

Back to IndexNext